Mantra
by Dances-With-Bears
Summary: A Quinntana femslash. Quinn refused to teeter on the edge of her crumbling foundation any longer. Tonight, she was going to tell her parents that she was in love with Santana Lopez. Rated M for abuse, vulgarity, racial remarks, and sexual themes.
1. I Want Your Horror

**Warning: **Rated **M** for abuse, vulgarity, racial remarks, and sexual themes.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee or any of its associated characters. If I did, this is what Glee would be like. I also do not own AM 1420. I'm from Ohio; this radio station unfortunately exists.

Finally, I do not own Lady Gaga's song, "Bad Romance". Each chapter will be titled with part of the song's lyrics.

Mantra

Chapter one: I want your horror

Quinn gripped the steering wheel, her only root to reality that had yet to be severed. In the course of her drive home, her toes became numb, her legs turned to stone, and her torso tightened under the squeeze of an imaginary python.

She hastily pulled over the car for the fifth time since she left McKinley High. Ms. Pillsbury's soothing voice echoed in her head as she tried desperately to fend off her imminent panic attack, "_Breathe_ _in, breathe out. Think of your mantra, Quinn. Focus. Stay present and breathe_." Heeding Ms. Pillsbury's advice, Quinn gasped as she trudged through her mental haze, and she silently repeated her mantra, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. I can _do all things_ through Christ who strengthens me. _I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me! I can_ -"

Her shallow breaths eventually slowed to deeper, more stable respiration. Quinn slumped against the steering wheel. Her hand fiddled with her cell phone in her coat pocket. She could call _her_ to come pick her up. She could call _her_ and admit that she couldn't face her parents alone. That she needed _her_ there to hold her hand while Quinn absorbed the tidal wave of rage from her soon-to-be dismayed parents. But that would require Quinn to allow _her_ to help, which was certainly not going to happen. Quinn had demanded that she deal with just one problem on her own, so calling her girlfriend to swoop in and rescue her was out of the question (though her lover's Wonder Woman complex was undeniably adorable.) No, Quinn was a Fabray. She was proud. She was capable.

Unlike all of her relatives, however, Quinn refused to teeter on the edge of her crumbling foundation. She would not suppress her unhappiness like her mother, or her aunts, or her grandmother. Her composure had long ago been eroded by her repressed tribulations. That ended tonight. Tonight, she was going to tell her parents that she was in love with Santana Lopez.

Well, that was assuming that she didn't wrap her father's Cadillac around a telephone pole on the way home.

Quinn steeled herself before turning over the engine. Drivers passing by shot her judgmental glances. Quinn pondered the thoughts in their heads, "What business does a girl that young have driving that car?"

"There goes another Fabray, waving their wealth in our peasant faces."

"There's that bitch, Quinn. Probably on her way to _spread it again_ – "

Quinn shook herself from her self-deprecating speculation. The longer she sat here, the longer it would be before she had revealed everything she had bottled up over the last year. She just wanted to confess and be finished with it. Sighing, she gingerly rolled off the curb and into the traffic.

Desperate to hear something other than the sound of her hammering heart, Quinn switched on the radio. Her father's favorite conservative radio station, AM 1420, blared out of the speakers, "Ladies and gentlemen," the radio personality announced, "it is my esteemed pleasure to welcome one of the greatest political minds of our time to today's show. Please welcome a man I personally admire… Karl Rove!"

"Fuck!" Quinn screeched as she quickly silenced the radio. She would make an attempt to borrow her mother's car from now on. Judy Fabray didn't care if Quinn changed the radio station. Hell, Judy wouldn't even notice. Russell Fabray, on the other hand, had a sixth sense. He always knew when Quinn switched the radio to something other than conservative political bullshit, even though she always changed it back to his precious AM 1420. He could tell exactly how much gas Quinn had frivolously wasted driving his car (even if she filled the tank before bringing it home.) Yes, Russell Fabray was a psychic. A sinister, fucking psychic, as well as utterly unreasonable. Once, he even berated Quinn for fogging up his Cadillac, because she _breathed_ in it too much.

Quinn's mental laundry list of grievances against her father quieted the moment she rolled into her driveway (because if her suspicions were true, Russell would hear her negative thoughts, which would propel him into a tirade.) She wanted her father in as (neutral) pleasant a mood as possible, before she dropped her gargantuan, Sapphic, rainbow-tastic bomb on her unsuspecting, God-fearing parents.

Hold onto your Cheerios skirts; life was about to suck for Quinn Fabray.

* * *

><p>Santana paced like a ravenous jaguar in a cage. Quinn hadn't called. She hadn't texted Santana. Nothing - not even a goddamn smoke signal! 6:30pm and she had heard <em>nothing<em>.

"Fuck a duck!" Santana hurled yet another wad of crumpled sheet music against her plum-colored bedroom wall. She wished she could release her pent-up frustration with an object heavier than paper, but then she would have to explain to her father, Julio, why and how she had embedded the kitchen knives in her wall… again.

She couldn't even yank on her hair, because then she'd rip out her newly-attached weave. The Universe had stripped Santana of all (destructive) effective ways to manage her anger. Not. Fucking. Fair.

Santana mumbled Ms. Pillsbury's advice over and over like a prayer, _"Some things are out of your control, Santana. Quinn especially. Let go." _

Santana lightly bounced up and down as she whispered quietly, "Let go. Let go. Just fucking let go."

Her sessions with Ms. Pillsbury were becoming more and more frequent these days. At first, Santana was entirely opposed to spewing her problems to anyone, especially to that germ phobic, sexually-challenged counselor.

Take that back, she was Santana Fucking Lopez . She did not have a single problem; everyone else had a problem because they weren't as _fucking awesome_ as she was! The human race's inadequacies were not her fault or concern!

But after the third day of Quinn withholding sex, Santana relented. Now, in flustering situations such as these, Santana relied on the redheaded counselor's wisdom like oxygen.

"_Dios, por favor, deja ella sea seguro_." Santana could only stew in her concern, hoping that her prayer would be answered.

* * *

><p>"I- I dddon't understand," Judy Fabray stuttered, her voice shaky and uneven.<p>

"I'm gay, mom, okay? Just like I have pale skin," Quinn's eyes pleaded for her mother to understand. She had yet to even look her father in the eye. He stood stony-faced next to his seated wife. His knuckles were ghostly white where he gripped Judy's dining room chair.

"But… but you can't be," Judy argued, "What about Finn? And that sweet boy, Sam-"

"And that fucking Jew that knocked you up last year!" Russell snapped. "What was his name? Fuck? Fuckerman?"

"Puck, Daddy," Quinn whispered, "His name is Puck-"

"You really think I care what that dumbshit's name is?" Russell glowered at his daughter as he loomed menacingly over her. He gripped her arm forcefully; Quinn felt helplessly small under his constricting grasp. Judy just shook as she sucked in each breath, her eyes glued to the floor tiles.

"First that punk kike from Cincinnati, and now you're a degenerate? What have your mother and I done to deserve this disgusting behavior of yours, Quinn? Please, tell me! I want to hear this!"

"Daddy, my sexuality has nothing to do with you or Mom," Quinn tried to explain.

"Sexuality?" Russell roared, "Sexuality? You're a Christian, Quinn Elizabeth Fabray! You don't have a sexuality until you're _married to a man_! Oh right, you ruined that when you disgraced this household with your bastard child!" Russell grabbed an empty glass on the table and shattered it against the wall. "Stand up!" He demanded.

Quinn immediately obeyed.

"Who did this to you?" he interrogated. His eyes were spinning gears, trying to click together and decipher the mystery that was his daughter. Before Quinn could respond, his mind locked onto the _obvious_ answer, "It happened in that locker room, didn't it?"

Quinn was speechless; she was unable to follow her father's bigoted train of thought.

"After Cheerios practice! You girls fornicated in the showers! Is that it, Quinn? Did you fuck every boy in school and now you're having orgies with the cheerleaders?"

"Russell!" Quinn's mother interjected, absolutely horrified at his accusations. "She's obviously sick! Stop screaming at her-"

"I am _not sick_, dammit!" Quinn shrieked, "And I am _not_ sleeping with all the Cheerios. I haven't cheer leaded since last year! Maybe if you actually cared about my life you would know that-" Before Quinn could finish, her father struck her cheek, knocking her back into her seat. A stifling heaviness enveloped the room. Russell's eyes were black with rage. Judy did not speak again. Instead, she slinked over to the liquor cabinet in the next room and poured herself a colossal glass of red wine.

"Pour me a scotch!" Russell barked at his wife. He whipped back to Quinn, who at this point was wheezing, trying frantically to ward off another panic attack.

"Stop making that awful noise!" He ordered.

Quinn heaved as she hopelessly tried to inhale properly. Judy walked back into the dining room with a glass in each hand. Upon seeing Quinn, she promptly dropped them both and rushed to her daughter's side. "Quinn! Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

"What the devil is wrong with you, Judy?" Russell bellowed. "Clean this shit up!" He gestured wildly at the smashed glass and alcohol strewn across the floor.

"Look at her! Quinn's _sick_!" Judy retorted, "Forget the glass and call 911!"

Quinn dug her nails into her mother's blouse and shook her head violently. No police. No doctors. No explaining the ligature marks on her arm, and the swelling lump on her cheek, and the broken glass on the floor. Quinn's eyes brimmed over with tears as she silently begged her mother to abandon the idea of outside people.

Russell huffed. "Pathetic," He turned and dramatically stepped over the puddle of liquor and shattered glass and stormed up the stairs.

Quinn's wheezing turned into bawling as she clutched her mother. "Mommy, please…"

Judy held her while Quinn's body wracked with sobs. After what seemed like eons later, Quinn stilled in her mother's arms. Judy peeled herself away from her daughter to look Quinn in the eye. She hesitated before speaking. "Are you all right now, dearest?"

Quinn rubbed her eyes with her sleeve and gently nodded.

Judy looked down at the despondent girl before her. Her eyes glazed over as she walked out of the room to fetch herself another glass of wine. All love and concern drained from Judy's eyes.

Quinn recognized that expression. The spacey gaze her mother wears when she's reached her emotional limit, when she briefly comprehends that her husband is perdition personified and her family is in shambles.

Once she reentered the room, she hands Quinn a box of tissues. Quinn's tongue tripped over grateful words as she wiped her face. Judy took one more look at Quinn before she sipped her drink; the intoxicating liquid flushed her completely into apathy. Before leaving the room she called over her shoulder, "You ruined my blouse."

* * *

><p>Santana would not fall asleep. A loving girlfriend would not sleep through Quinn's phone call. However, it was half passed eleven, and Santana had been up since 5:30am, brimming with anxiety as she repeatedly contemplated her girlfriend's impending conversation with the Fabrays. Being up nineteen hours was pushing this raven-haired girl's limit.<p>

Her phone buzzed for exactly half a beat on the nightstand before Santana pressed it to her ear. "Quinn? Lock your bedroom door until I get there. I'm coming right now!"

"Don't bother," Quinn rasped, "I'm already here. Open your front door."

Santana's entire house flashed by her in a blur as she raced to let in Quinn. Fortunately, both of her parents were out of town, otherwise, she would have been "harshly disciplined" for running through the house in nothing but her black lingerie.

She flung the door open with such force that she nearly fell backwards. Quinn, on the other hand, did not flinch at the display or her girlfriend's appearance. She merely stepped inside, slung her duffle bag off of her shoulder, and dropped her suitcase with an audible "clunk."

Santana promptly pulled Quinn into a vice-like embrace and kissed her temple before the onslaught of questions spilled out of her mouth, "Babe, what happened? Did you drive yourself here? Whose car did you take? Please tell me you didn't take the Cadillac, because in this neighborhood, it'll be gone from the curb by morning-"

"Santana!" Quinn interrupted, "I didn't drive. I walked here."

Santana blinked in disbelief. "Quinn, it's practically three miles!"

"I needed to clear my head. The walk was cathartic." Quinn responded coolly.

"It's _dark_! This is Lima Heights Adjacent! Are you crazy? No, no you did not drive here. Where is your car?" Santana stuck her head out her door to peer into the darkness.

"Santana, get in here!" Quinn yanked her girlfriend back into the house by her bra strap. "I walked here. Got it? Fantastic. Now, are you going to argue with me, or are we going to cuddle in your bed? Because after the night I've had, I'd much prefer the latter."

Santana weighed both options; lack of sleep prevented the phrase "cuddle in your bed" from instantaneously registering.

Upon realizing her stupidity, Santana pulled Quinn toward the stairs by her wrist. The wrist that still bore Russell's purple finger marks underneath her shirt sleeve. Quinn bit her bottom lip to prevent a pained whimper from reaching Santana's ears. It was far too late to explain her injury and stop Santana from going on the warpath.

* * *

><p>Santana delicately lifted Quinn's shirt from her body while Quinn feebly fumbled with the button of her jeans.<p>

"Cariña, let me," Santana cooed.

Quinn sighed affectionately as Santana adroitly stripped her of all her clothes. Being undressed by her Latina never failed to brighten Quinn's mood. "The underwear," Quinn said playfully, "lose it."

Santana happily complied as she pulled off her bra and thong and led Quinn to their bed. Quinn lay on her side between Santana's legs. Santana wrapped her arms around her girlfriend as Quinn curled contently into her.

Santana brushed some of the blonde's hair away from her face as she kissed the paler girl's cheek. She could taste a salty film lingering from tears on Quinn's face. Frowning, Santana debated asking about the mammoth in the room.

"Cariña?"

"Yeah San?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Quinn exhaled sharply. "No, love," she answered, "not really."

Santana nodded and switched off her bedside lamp. She made no effort to inquire about the deep purple bruises on Quinn's wrist. Or the smudged foundation revealing a dark splotch on her cheek. That metaphorical pachyderm would have to wait until tomorrow.


	2. I Want Your Ugly

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own Glee. Wish I did.

**A/N:** Thank you for reviewing so quickly. Hope you enjoy this next installment.

Mantra

Chapter Two: I Want Your Ugly

Early morning sun streaked into the bedroom as Quinn began to stir. Santana's arm curved protectively around Quinn from behind. A small smile stretched across her lips as she gently lifted Santana's hand to her mouth and kissed it. The dark-haired girl unconsciously sighed contently.

Quinn absentmindedly rubbed her face, which set ablaze her cheek's nerve endings in stinging pain. She retracted her hand in surprise before tentatively returning her index finger to the tender spot. The events of the prior evening flooded back to her: The fight. Her furious father. The smashed glass. Her wheezing fit. Her mother surely drinking herself into oblivion.

A smooth, beige-colored substance stuck to Quinn's finger. Foundation. Foundation she used to cover the bruise her father created when he slapped her. Nervously, Quinn glanced over at the Latina. Santana was still asleep. She hadn't seen Quinn's face.

Carefully, Quinn separated herself from her girlfriend as she slipped out of bed. Her foundation was in her purse across the room. She could tiptoe into the bathroom and cover up before-

"Don't bother," Santana said as she caught Quinn's uninjured limb, "I've already seen your cheek. And your wrist."

"Uh… huh," Quinn struggled to form coherent thoughts. Suddenly the floor became fascinating. "It's not…" Quinn tried to explain in a whisper, "It's really not what it looks like."

"Bullshit," Santana deadpanned. She sat up on the edge of the bed, and she pulled Quinn to stand between her knees. Santana rested her head on the blonde's stomach, her hands running up and down her girlfriend's sides. "I thought about this since you fell asleep," Santana began, "I thought about how to be supportive, how to say this delicately. You just a horrible night, and I know I should be sensitive. But I can't pretend. I'm fucking livid with you, Quinn."

Quinn blinked in shock. Words nearly failed to climb out of her throat, "What… what could you possibly be angry about with me? This better not be about me walking, because seriously-"

"No," Santana interrupted, "No, this has nothing to do with that. That was stupid. But you neglecting to inform me that he still _beats_ you, that's just _asinine, _Fabray. You told me that he doesn't hit you anymore!"

Quinn's throat was cement.

Santana scowled. "I knew this was a terrible idea!" She ranted, "I should have never let you do this! You looked me in the eyes and _swore_ to me that your parents would be civil. That they'd be more open-minded than I expected. You promised he wouldn't lay a _finger_ on you!"

Quinn gulped, "He… hasn't in a while. I really didn't think-"

"Don't lie to me!" Santana's voice was quaky with rage, "You tell your sociopathic, homophobic, book-burning father that you like eating out with the girls and you didn't think he'd smack you around?"

Quinn tore her arm from Santana's grasp and bolted into the bathroom connected to the bedroom. She slammed the door right in Santana's face.

"Quinn!" Santana raised her hand to bang it on the door, but she stopped suddenly. _He_ would do something similar to this. She was deeply concerned. _He,_ on the other hand, would chase Quinn into a locked room and hurl threats detailing her demise if she didn't _open the door_. Ashamed, Santana lowered her voice to her most gentle tone, "Baby?"

Silence.

"Quinn, _please_."

Agonizing silence.

"I'm so fucking sorry! I'm an ass! C'mon, babe, let me in."

A quiet sniffle was the only response from the bathroom.

"Quinn? I overreacted, okay? I'm a five-star fuckup!" Santana empathically pleaded as she dropped her head against the door. "I just… I just fucking hate him, Quinn! I should have been there to stop him! _I should have been there_!"

The bathroom door cracked open just enough to reveal Quinn kneeling in front of it. "Are you done swearing now?"

Santana squatted down to meet her gaze, "Finished, I promise."

Quinn sighed deeply. She opened the door the rest of the way and scooted on her knees into Santana's arms. "Ms. Pillsbury needs to put you through some major sensitivity training," Quinn muttered.

"Agreed," Santana replied into a silky smooth neck, "May I begin my penance by making you bacon?"

Quinn smiled into Santana's shoulder, "Yes, please. Lots of bacon."

* * *

><p>"For the last time… <em>please<em>. Stop staring," Quinn said lowly as she munched on her bacon.

Santana rolled her eyes, "I am not," she paused as she leaned over the table, "staring."

"Really now?" Quinn replied, completely unconvinced, "If your eyes were lasers, the bruise on my cheek would be liquefied into puddy."

Santana scrunched up her face, "Q, that's just nasty. I'm trying to eat."

Quinn listlessly nodded her head, fiddling with her bacon.

Santana pushed her plate to the side and took Quinn's hand. "Okay," she said, "Yes, I'm staring. I'm sorry."

"It just makes me feel self-conscious," Quinn divulged quietly.

"Babe, you can't pretend last night didn't happen," Santana whispered.

"Okay, you know what?" Quinn snapped as she pulled her hand away, "You really suck at comforting me. Like _really_ suck at it."

Santana's jaw clenched, inadequacy washing over her like acid rain. Silently, she stood up and walked behind Quinn's chair. She threaded her fingers through golden hair, lightly scratching Quinn's scalp as she worked her fingers from the crown of Quinn's head down to the base of her neck. Then Santana deftly pressed her digits into Quinn's shoulders. The blonde hummed contently; the uncomfortable mood from before slowly began to melt away.

"I should have skipped talking entirely last night and gone straight to this," Santana admitted.

"Mmm," Quinn mumbled, "Massages do make everything better."

Santana paused her ministrations and gently turned Quinn's chin to face her. She stared hard at the amorphous purple mark on her girlfriend's cheek. Frustration, heartbreak, and anger flashed in kaleidoscopic fashion in her umber eyes. "Not everything," she replied dejectedly.

Her gaze was abruptly broken by the hum of Quinn's phone. Quinn fished the vibrating object out of her pocket. _Mom _lit up ominously on the screen. Quinn glanced up at Santana worriedly; the Latina's glare torched a hole into the illuminated screen. Quinn mouthed a "sorry" before pressing the cell to her ear, "Mom-"

"You left last night," Judy stated flatly.

_Hello to you too_ Quinn thought bitterly, "I did."

"Where are you?"

"Do you even care?"

Judy ignored Quinn's response entirely. "You have to be home by 8:30am tomorrow."

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Why's that, _Mother_?"

"Because," Judy huffed, "We have Church at nine."

Quinn scoffed in disbelief, "You cannot be serious."

"Don't you dare argue with me," Irritation rose in Judy's voice, "You do not miss Church, ever. You will be there tomorrow with me and your father."

"Oh, no-"

"Yes Quinn, you will. Otherwise, people will be very disappointed in you. _Again_."

Her mother's venomous words stung. Disgusted faces flashed behind closed eyelids as Quinn remembers shamefully walking down the aisles of Grace Church. Her swelling stomach marked her as a failure in the eyes of the faithful around her. _Pregnant. Marred. Disgrace. Unforgivable._ Quinn swallowed the sob that tried to tumble out of her throat. "Yes ma'am." Her voice was a mix of resentment and resignation.

"Yes, indeed," Judy snapped before hanging up. No "goodbye." No "I love you". No maternal utterances of any kind. No promises to protect her daughter from the monster that is her husband. Quinn's insides felt decayed.

Quinn laughed dryly. "Wow, she didn't even sound hung over."

"You are _not_ going back home tomorrow," Santana spat sharply.

Quinn braced herself for the argument she wished she didn't have to have. "I have to go, Santana."

"No, you fucking don't. There is _no way_ you are going to be breathing the same air as them!"

"I won't go home. I'll meet them at church. They won't say or do anything in public, especially at the service. I'll be fine."

"Quinn, I swear-"

"I don't want to argue with you, Santana. I cannot take being any more miserable than I already am. I want to go Maple Creek."

Santana set her jaw. Quinn made the one request Santana could never refuse. When Quinn wanted to go to the park, they went. They could never argue at the park, under _their_ tree.

"Where's your jacket?" Santana asked solemnly.

* * *

><p><em>"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" Quinn glared at the Latina staring back at her on her front porch step.<em>

_ "It's Mother's Day," Santana answered tentatively. _

_ Pain briefly crossed Quinn's features before it was replaced by rage. "You are _unbelievable_, Lopez. First, you jump me in the hallway for telling Coach about your boob job. Shoving me into a locker wasn't enough for you? You come here, of all days, to throw in my face that my daughter is with Berry's mom? I knew you were cutthroat, Santana, but I never thought you were this _cruel_."_

_ Santana rolled her eyes. "Someone's bitter that she got her ass kicked."_

_ The Fabray's front door had never been slammed shut harder. Santana rapt her knuckled loudly on the wooden surface._

_ "You have ten seconds before I call the police!" Quinn shouted._

_ "Hear me out!" Santana pleaded._

_ "Eight!"_

_ "Dammit Fabray!"_

_ "Six!"_

_ "Quinn!"_

_ "WHAT?" Quinn screeched as she ripped open the door._

_ "Finn told me you like raspberry ice cream," Santana blurted out, her eyes staring at the dusty welcome mat._

_ Quinn eyed her incredulously. "What… What did you just say?"_

_ Santana huffed. "Ice cream. You know, frozen flavored dairy? Goes straight to your ass?"_

_ "Am I being punk'd? Are you taping this?" Quinn looked around suspiciously._

_ Santana patted around her body. "No wires, Fabray. I'm here to make peace."_

_ "With ice cream? You're going to poison me, aren't you?"_

_ "I wouldn't be so stealthy. You know me, I do my shit out in the open." A sly smile tugged at the corner of Santana's lips. "Look, my parents are out of town. It's Mother's Day, and I have nobody with whom to spend it. And I kind of figured today would be hard for you… so I wanted to do something nice for you," Santana's foot scuffed at the ground. "I kind of owe you for earlier this week anyway."_

_ Quinn blinked rapidly in disbelief. "You _are_ trying to poison me."_

_ "Get me your Bible, and I'll swear on it," Santana looked Quinn dead in the eye, "This is as awkward for me as it is for you. I'm trying to be a good Samurai here."_

_ "Samaritan," Quinn corrected. A chuckle almost escaped her chest, "You totally just pulled a Brittany right now."_

_ "I- what- no! Look, whatever! Am I buying you a cone or what?" Santana crossed her arms, failing miserably at maintaining her badass façade._

_ Quinn pondered. "I prefer to eat out of a bowl."_

_ "Of course you do," Sarcasm dripped from Santana's voice, "just get in the Jeep."_

* * *

><p>"<em>Where are you taking me?" The questions never stopped coming as soon as Quinn got in Santana's Jeep Wrangler.<em>

"_Don't open that container until we get out of the car. I don't need any pink stains on my seats," Santana ignored the blonde's question for the fiftieth time._

"_I'll dump it everywhere if you don't tell me where we're going," Quinn scanned the surrounding scenery trying to figure out where the dark-haired girl was taking her._

"_Don't bother," Santana responded, "We're here."_

_Quinn turned her head as she leaned forward in her seat. _Maple Creek Park_. "Oh my word… you brought me out into the woods to kill me, didn't you?"_

"_Yep, get the shovel out of the back seat," Santana deadpanned as she reached out to grab a towel that was tucked behind her seat."You coming or what?"_

_Quinn stayed seated as she watched Santana walk over to a distant, giant sugar maple. She set the two cartons of ice cream down while she unrolled the large towel and plopped down on the ground. Hesitantly, Quinn followed. Once she reached the Latina, she stood awkwardly, swaying from side to side. She calculated her reaction time and escape route, should Santana attempt to choke her with a piece of piano wire._

"_I spent three ninety-nine on your raspberry royale. Eat it before it melts and I get pissy at you for wasting my money," Santana shoved the Styrofoam container at Quinn. Quinn took it and sat on the edge of the towel, trying to put as much space between her and her potential murderer as possible._

"_Cheers," Santana mumbled dryly as she and Quinn tap their bowls together with a "chunk."_

_They ate together in silence. Eventually, Quinn relaxed in Santana's presence as she took in her surroundings. The last time she had been to the park, she had been young enough that grass stains on her dress were still acceptable (so a very, _very_ long time ago.) Behind them, the grassy landscape dipped down into a bustling stream. More trees clustered together on the other side of the bank. Birds chirped avian love songs. Even the insects buzzed a pleasant melody in the Spring afternoon._

"_Santana?"_

"_Yeah, Quinn?"_

"_This is actually really nice."_


	3. Want You in my Rear Window

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. Somebody want to buy it for me? I'll bake you cookies!

**A/N:** I'm making Santana a junior cop, called an auxiliary officer. Santana with a badge and authority is just "all kinds of awesome", as Rachel Berry would say. Hope you enjoy chapter three. Please keep the reviews coming.

Mantra

Chapter Three: Want You in my Rear Window

"Santana, unlock this door, _now._" Quinn tugged angrily at the door handle. Her eyes were narrowed into slits.

Santana huffed as she punched the "unlock button" on her armrest. Quinn yanked on the silver handle, but she was not nearly quick enough. As soon as she tried to exit, Santana pushed the "lock" button… for the ninth time. Damn childproof locks.

"Stop teasing! You have to let me out of this car eventually," Quinn growled.

"I don't actually. I'm debating whether or not to take you over to the sheriff station."

"But then you'd be committing abduction," Quinn pointed out, "which would make you the worst auxiliary cop ever."

"I got the D.A. in my butt pocket," Santana retorted sarcastically, "They love me down there."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Look, I bet my parents each had a coronary when I texted them I wasn't stopping by the house this morning. I can _see_ my mother fuming by the side entrance," She pointed to Mrs. Fabray. Her designer coat wrinkled under her crossed arms. She didn't, however, have a sandy blonde hair out of place. Thankfully, she couldn't see Quinn sitting in the jeep parked a few yards over. How her mother had not noticed her was puzzling, seeing as the Wrangler stuck out amongst the luxury vehicles that dotted the parking lot. Quinn assumed her father was either seated inside or chatting with the pastor. Russell definitely would have noticed the jeep. "It's 8:50am. _Let me out_."

Santana studied Quinn closely. "I have proof this time," She said quietly, "I can show them your face."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "You'll do no such thing. And we are not having this conversation again."

"Had he hit you a few inches higher, you'd be sporting a black eye. Which, even on your pretty face, wouldn't be so cute. All I have to do is drive you to the station, parade you in front of my boss, and the boys in blue will arrest him for child abuse."

"You wouldn't," Quinn contended.

Santana looked Quinn dead in the eye as she rotated her key to start the Jeep. Quinn quickly lunged over the armrest, ripped the key out of the console, and whipped it forcefully into Santana's lap. "Ow! The fuck, Q?"

"Listen very closely," Quinn warned as she grabbed Santana's chin, "If you don't unlock this car, I will never go down on you. _Ever. Again._"

"Whoa, babe!" Santana exclaimed, "I'm pretty sure there's some sixty-ninth commandment that says you can't say anything remotely sexual within so many feet of a church. Where are your morals? We're on sacred ground!"

"_Shut up_!" Quinn snapped. "And hey, don't you jump down my throat about my choice of words. I hold my tongue while you swear like a truck driver all day."

"Your condescending eye rolls and slaps accomplish the same point," Santana countered.

"Not condescending, just disappointed. Only because I know you are perfectly capable of expressing yourself without cursing every other syllable. Or tacking an 's' to the end of a word. Or adding an unnecessary 'be' in a phrase. Seriously, San? Remember that time in Glee you said 'we's be goin' to Breadstix'?"

"Maybe you're just an elitist," Santana argued.

"Maybe you should stop trying to distract me and just unlock my door. Immediately. It is now 8:54am." Quinn replied.

Santana stared out the windshield.

"Babe," Quinn pleaded, her tone increasing desperate, "I really need to go."

"Why can't I turn him in?" Santana pushed.

"You know why."

"I know the twisted bullshit that you tried to force feed me last year. Give me a real reason and I'll let you out."

Quinn sighed. "I had a baby Santana."

"I remember. That's definitely not a reason."

"My parents threw me a _purity party_ when I was twelve. I was president of Celibacy Club, but I had a daughter," She paused, taking Santana's hand in her own. "My point is, I've had enough controversy in my life. I don't want my father to be dragged out of my house in handcuffs in front of the neighbors. If that happens, my mother will certainly binge drink, black out, and rot in rehab. Our senior year is over in four months, and then I'll never have to see them. We can go off to Ohio State and never set foot in Lima again. It's easier putting up with this for now, San, okay?"

Santana's finger hovered above the infamous "unlock" button. She refused to meet the blonde's gaze, but she gently squeezed Quinn's hand affectionately. "I'll be waiting right here," She said as she released the paler girl from her confinement.

Quinn was half way out the door when she turned back to her girlfriend. "You know," she began, "you could come with me. If you're so worried."

Santana shook her head slowly. "You know that I'll beat his ass, Quinn. For reals. And her's for good measure."

Quinn nodded sadly. She was well aware of Santana's temper. "I'll see you in an hour."

Santana watched the blonde saunter toward the side door where her mother impatiently waited. Her chest ached painfully in defeat.

* * *

><p><em>Santana sat apart from the rest of the Glee kids in the choir room. Her trademark scowl deterred anyone from taking the chair next to her.<em>

"_Hi."_

_Everyone, except Quinn._

"_Fabray."_

_Quinn glanced sideways at the rest of her classmates. They pretended (barely) that they weren't watching her talk to Santana, the human volcano. They all waited anxiously (and a bit fearfully) for the eruption._

"_May I sit here?" Quinn asked hesitantly._

"_You mean 'can I sit here'?"_

_ "Actually Santana, 'may' is the correct grammatical choice, not 'can'." Rachel corrected from across the room. Every pair of eyes in New Directions bugged out of their heads in shock. Duck for cover; Santana was due to go Pompeii at any moment._

_ Santana glared at the cowering diva behind the piano. Abruptly, she turned her head to face Quinn."Take a seat," was Mt. Santana's surprisingly anticlimactic response. _

_Quinn's lips stretched into a small smile. Tina, Mike, and Mercedes, on the other hand, exchanged perplexed glances. Rachel checked her pulse. Puck and Lauren suspected that Santana was on tranquilizers. Artie reluctantly handed Brittany a quarter. Finn praised grilled cheesus. Sam released his bottom guppy lip from his teeth._

_ As Quinn settled into her seat, Kurt limped into the choir room. Immediately, Santana's face contorted in concern as she leapt up to inspect the frail boy._

_ "Kurt, what the hell happened?"_

_ "Santana, it's nothing-"_

_ "Bullshit it's- why are you covering your mouth with a tissue?" Santana eyed him suspiciously._

_ "Drop it, please!" Kurt begged._

_ Santana yanked his hand away from his pale face to reveal a trail of blood trickling from his lip down to his chin._

_ "What. The. Fuck!" Santana seethed._

_ "I went to the nurse already! I'll be fine!" Kurt exclaimed. By this point, the rest of the Glee club members were on their feet._

_ "Kurt, what happened?" Mercedes asked hysterically._

_ "No!" Santana snapped, "Don't answer her! Look at me!" She and Kurt locked eyes. "I want a name Hummel. _Now!_"_

_ Kurt shook his head frantically. "It was an accident; I hit myself with my locker!"_

_ "You mean someone _bashed you_ into a locker?" Santana's voice was dangerously low. "_Who was it, dammit?_"_

_ Silence._

_ "Kurt-"_

_ "Karofsky, okay?" Kurt blurted out. Immediately, he regretted answering. His hand flew up to his mouth, trying to shove the awful truth back inside._

_ Santana's eyes glazed over with fury. She had her target._

_ "S-S-Santana," Kurt stuttered, "Don't you do anything-"_

_ "Who the hell do you think you're talking to?" She practically shouted, "Wheezy, Lady Asian, take him to the bathroom and clean him up! Puck, Finnocence, you're coming with me!"_

_ "Where the hell are we going?" Puck questioned warily._

_ "To deliver a major shit kickin'! Whatcha think?" Santana spat over her shoulder. She snatched up a folding chair by the door on her way out._

* * *

><p><em> David Karofsky was stowing away his backpack in the lock room when they found him.<em>

_ "Hey, asshole," Puck called out._

_ "The fuck's your problem?" Karofsky's gaze shifted between Finn and Puck. "You two Glee fags here to ask me if I want a three-some? Cause there's no way that's happening!"_

_ "Naw, man," Finn responded coolly, "We just need your help. Coach wants us to move the lacrosse gear out of her office. We need an extra hand."_

_ Karofsky's face scrunched up in suspicion. "Then… why'd you call me an asshole?"_

_ Puck shrugged. "Because you are. But I call everybody an asshole."_

_ "Whatever," Karofsky scoffed as he pushed passed them, "so where's this shit?"_

_ He passed two more rows of lockers before Santana darted out and cracked him in the gut with a metal folding chair, Wrestle Mania style. He tumbled to the floor; Finn and Puck grabbed him and dragged him into a corner._

_ "Listen up, shitdick!" Santana snarled, "You don't come near Kurt Hummel again. You don't look at him. You don't even send him an apologetic text. Stay the fuck away from him and everyone else in Glee Club. Or I'll be paying you another visit."_

_ "Fuck you, bitch!" Karofsky spat between labored breaths. The wind had been completely stolen from him._

_ Santana smirked deviously. She nodded toward the chair leaning against the wall. "Hey, Puck," she cackled, "I think he be needing another Smack Down reenactment!"_

_ "I agree," Puck grinned. "I've been waiting to go all Death Star on him for a while anyway."_

_ Karofsky's eyes widened to saucers in fear. "No! Don't!"_

_ "Fucking say it then!" Santana's face was inches from his. "Say 'I won't bother Kurt Hummel ever again'!"_

_ "I-" his voice was a whisper._

_ "You've got three witnesses here, jock itch. Say it so we can hear you," Santana interrupted._

_ "All right! I'll fucking leave him alone, okay?" Karofsky blubbered. He clutched his stomach._

_ "I'd sleep with an ice pack on my chest if I were you," she gestured to his abdomen. "You're still gonna bruise though. Too bad."_

_ "I'll fucking tell everyone-"_

_ "Yeah, you'll tell everyone that a _Glee girl_ half your size slammed you in the chest with a folding chair. Because that's _so believable_. Go to hell." _

_Few McKinley High students knew it, but because of Santana's "persuasive" methods, the football team had declared an end to slushie-ing. Incidents like today were why. Santana Lopez was _perra loca_._

_ Puck loomed over the injured jock. "Pathetic," he taunted as he shook his head._

_ Finn squatted down to glower at Karofsky. "You hurt my brother again, I won't use a folding chair. I'll flush your head down a toilet... like a million times."_

_ Santana rolled her eyes. "Boys, we's be going now. Gotta get our sing on," Puck and Finn followed the swaggering Latina up the stairs back to choir. "Seriously, Finnocence?" She asked in disbelief, "You'll give him _a swirly_ if he bullies Kurt?"_

_ "Hey!" The tall boy tried to defend himself, "It was all I could think of at the time, okay? I'm kind of in shock!"_

_ "Yeah, Lopez," Puck agreed, "You scare the shit out of me sometimes."_

_ Santana smirked. "Good."_

* * *

><p>Fifty seconds.<p>

Quinn counted in her head exactly how much longer the song would continue before service was over. The moment it was finished, she could sprint away from her parents, back to Santana. Right now, Lima Heights Adjacent seemed like an infinitely more secure place that her parent's presence.

Thirty-one seconds.

Judy stood stoically on her husband's right, Russell was sandwiched in the middle, and Quinn swayed uneasily at his left on the end. She had an escape route, but she had to endure her father's crippling company. He smelled heavily of tobacco. He had started smoking again.

Seven seconds.

Quinn glanced at her father out of the corner of her eye. She expected to see him reading the lyrics out of his hymn book, or flashing his wife a smile filled with falsehoods. But no. _He was looking straight down at her._

Zero.

Quinn spun around to dash down the aisle, but she wasn't moving forward. To her horror, she was actually tugged backwards. Her father pulled her into a firm hug and kissed the top of her head. She nearly fainted from inhaling his stifling, smoky scent.

She wasn't going anywhere.

"We're going to breakfast," Russell informed his daughter and wife, "with the Carter family."

This definitely was not part of the master plan.

Quinn remained silent as her father discreetly (dragged) guided her by the elbow through the parking lot. Her mother's eyes darted worriedly from left to right. Quinn did the only thing she could do when she was in trouble: pray.

"Good morning," Santana cheerfully greeted the Fabray's. She had parked her jeep next to Mr. Fabray's black Cadillac. Quinn's prayers had been answered.

"Samantha, hello," Mrs. Fabray said in surprise.

"_Santana_," the dark-haired girl corrected, not at all surprised by the woman's mistake.

"Well if you'll excuse us, Santana," Russell cut in, "we must be going. Have a nice day."

"You too, Sir." Santana replied dryly. "C'mon, Quinn."

Quinn froze with fear.

"Our daughter is coming to breakfast with us," Russell pointed out.

"Really now?" Santana asked, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize that. Quinn asked me to pick her up today. Do you want me to go, Quinn?"

Quinn was a deer in blinding headlights.

Santana smirked. "Pardon me, Mr. Fabray," she began, "but it looks like Quinn doesn't want to go anywhere with you or your wife."

Russell ignored her. "Ger in the car, Quinn Elizabeth."

"Don't get in the Caddy, Quinn." Santana spat.

"Excuse me?" Russell sneered, "From where I'm standing, you are way overstepping your boundaries young lady."

Santana stepped toe-to-toe with the hateful man. "Can I give you some advice? Stand somewhereelse then. Quinn is coming with me. If you don't let her, we're going to have a problem."

Mrs. Fabray's eyebrow shot up in curiosity, while Quinn covered her face with her hands. The familiar blur around her vision was creeping into view. Her chest had yet to tighten, but she was sure another panic attack was imminent.

Russell laughed disbelievingly. "Are you really threatening me?" he questioned, "in a parking lot full of witnesses?"

"Oh, no, _Russie_," Santana assured, "that wasn't a threat. A threat is worded far more specifically. A threat would be something more along the lines of… 'If you don't let her go, I'll _scalp you_ and use your flesh as toilet paper'." Santana dramatically looked to her left and right before whispering, "_And I don't care how many witnesses there are._"

Quinn wanted to collapse into the Earth's core. Judy's mouth slacked open in shock. Russell clenched his jaw; his eyes were devoid of a soul. He glared back and forth at Quinn and her audacious friend.

"But I didn't say anything like that," Santana clarified in a saccharine tone, "I just said we'd have a problem."

Mr. Fabray scoffed. "So you did," he jerked his head to look angrily at Quinn, "_Get out_ of here."

Quinn scurried to the passenger side door of Santana's jeep and climbed in without looking at either of her parents. She immediately sucked in heavy breaths. Her inhalations seemed normal; panic attack averted.

Santana smiled triumphantly. "Enjoy your breakfast!"

* * *

><p>"I honestly thought you were going to shoot him," Quinn mumbled.<p>

"Me?" Santana gasped, "I was damn sure he was going to stab me with a switchblade!"

"You're the one that threatened to _scalp_ him!" Quinn exclaimed.

"It would be an improvement," Santana sniggered. "Then none of us would have to look at his awful toupee."

Quinn groaned as she rubbed her temples.

"Do you want another massage when we get home?" Santana asked.

Quinn nodded. "Definitely. I need some aspirin, too," she said wearily, "Please, babe. Don't ever threaten to murder my father again in public."

"Scalping him isn't murder," Santana quipped.

"He'd die eventually from blood loss!"

"But it wouldn't be murder."

Quinn's eyebrow ascended. "Oh no? How do you figure that?"

"Well, Cariña," Santana explained, "Title 29 of the Ohio Revised Code defines murder as the purposely caused death of a human being. Your father is not human, so he doesn't qualify."

Quinn shook her head. "If it's not murder, what would you call it then?"

"A favor?"

"Ha!"

"Public service?"

Both girls laughed whole-heartedly.

"You're terrible," Quinn smiled brightly.

"Terribly funny."

"I… will say though," Quinn began, "you showed a lot more restraint than I expected. I didn't know what expect when you and Dad crossed paths. Besides blood. And perhaps a restraining order."

Santana chuckled. " A year ago, I might have hit him over the head with a choir chair."

Quinn smirked knowingly.

"But," Santana continued, "I like to think I've calmed down."

"Because of your job?"

"No," Santana answered, "You had something to do with it."

Quinn's smirked grew into a proud smile.

_BUZZ._

Brown and hazel eyes shifted down warily at Quinn's phone vibrating in the cup holder.

"It's a text from Mom," Quinn grumbled.

Santana tightened her grasp on the steering wheel. "What does she want?"

Quinn sighed. "She says 'see you next Sunday at church'," she paused before sarcastically adding, "at least she didn't call this time."

They rolled up to a stop sign. Santana dropped her hand to her girlfriend's knee. "I guess this means you're not going home after all this week."

"No," Quinn agreed, "I'm definitely not."


	4. Walk, Walk Passion Baby

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee, Lady Gaga's "Telephone", anything by Simon and Garfunkel, or _Los Hombres de Paco_, which I reference later in this chapter. If you haven't heard of this show, check it out. Sexy Spanish lesbian cops = good stuff! (I clearly have a one-track mind.)

**A/N:** Brace yourselves for brief Quinntana sexy times ;-) Also, Quinn sings "Bridge over Troubled Water" just like Mercedes performs in the Grilled Cheesus episode. I think it fits. Hope you do, too.

Mantra

Chapter Four: Walk, Walk Passion Baby

"_Why don't you talk to Brittany anymore?" Quinn abruptly broke the silence between the two girls. She lay with her head on Santana's chest; they both were sprawled out beneath the sugar maple tree in the park._

_ Santana shifted uncomfortably, "What do you mean?"_

_ "She used to be your shadow," Quinn explained, "but now I never see you two together. No one does."_

_ "I saw her in Glee all the time," Santana argued._

_ "You'd be in the same room with her, yes," Quinn said, "but she sat with Artie. You'd sit with me, on the other side of the room."_

_ "Are you complaining?" Santana huffed, "I never forced you to sit with me."_

_ "I didn't say that," Quinn replied in an even voice, "I'm just concerned. You two were so close. You'd walk through the hallways, pinkies linked, as if no one else existed. Now you're acting like strangers. Did something happen?"_

_ Santana's heart thumped erratically under Quinn's ear._

_ "School just let out two weeks ago, Fabray. I'm sure I'll see her around this summer."_

_ "From what I remember, you two used to spend every waking moment together during vacation."_

_ "Not every moment," Santana corrected with a dry chuckle, "A girl's gotta get laid every now and again."_

_ "Santana," Quinn's tone turned stern. "Enough with the jokes and just tell me what's going on between you two. I'm worried."_

_ Quinn's head rose and fell as the Latina inhaled heavily. "Can I sit up?" Santana mumbled._

_ Even such a simple question seemed outright odd to Quinn. Santana was the type to shove someone. "Are you okay?" Concern laced Quinn's voice, her own heart beginning to pump faster._

_ Santana propped herself up on her elbows with her eyes squeezed closed. Quinn sat up with her."Do we really have to talk about this?" Santana moaned._

_ "Now we do."_

_ The dark-haired girl bit her lip. "I… told her some things. Things I thought she wanted me to talk about. I didn't like what she said back, so we don't hang out anymore."_

_ "What do you mean? If you don't mind me asking?" Quinn placed her hand on the Latina's shoulder._

_ "I do mind, actually," Santana pointed out, "I just told you what happened. Now drop it." Santana fell back down on the ground with a "thud."_

_ Quinn's empty hand hung in the air for a moment before she put it in her lap. Santana's unwillingness to open up stung her. They had been hanging out regularly for weeks now. Was Quinn wrong about them being close? If they were as close as she felt, then why wouldn't Santana confide in her? "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."_

_ "Whatever."_

_ The blonde stayed upright, not looking at her friend._

_ "Fabray, it's fine."_

_ She didn't respond. Sighing, Santana pulled Quinn's body back down onto her chest. "I didn't mean to be a bitch."_

_ "You weren't any more so than usual," Quinn remarked quietly._

_ Santana tentatively twirled a piece of golden hair between her fingers. "She made me sad, okay?" she revealed._

_ "How? What did she do?" Quinn didn't move from her spot, but she became concerned again, so much so that she was surprised. She felt a knot in her stomach begin to twist._

_ "Like I said," Santana explained, "I told her stuff. I opened up to her, and she threw it back in my face."_

_ Realization clicked in Quinn's mind. "So you _are_ into her," A tan hand froze in blonde hair. Upon speaking, Quinn's eyes smashed shut in remorse. She definitely did not mean to say that. "Oh, San, I'm so sorry-"_

_ "Where did you hear that?" she croaked._

_ "Uh,"_

_ "Quinn."_

_ "One of the football players… I figured it was a stupid rumor."_

_ "So now my feelings are stupid?" Santana snapped._

_ "No, of course not! That's not what I meant at all," Quinn clarified, "I've just made an effort not to pay any real attention to gossip anymore. I figured the guy was just being a jerkoff. I told him to shut his mouth or I'd sew it shut for him."_

_ Santana chuckled, "You've been hanging out with me too long. My violent ways have corrupted you."_

_ "I've had a mean streak long before we've started spending time together again," Quinn sat up to look at her friend., Santana wore a thoughtful, yet sad expression. _

"_What is it, honey?"_

"_I…" Santana paused, "You don't hate me?"_

_Quinn scoffed. "I could never hate you! Why would you think that?"_

"_Because I shoved you into a locker."_

"_We got passed that-"_

"_I stole your head Cheerio spot."_

"_You really think I care about Cheerios?"_

"_I used to call you preggers for God's sakes!"_

"_Not the worst name I've been called."_

"_And I'm into-" Santana stopped abruptly, covering her hand over her mouth in shame. The word "girls" was buried deep inside the caverns of her chest._

"_You're into what, San?" Quinn wished she could will Santana to finish. "Seriously, what is it?"_

_ Dark eyes refused to meet worried ones. "I can't, Quinn."_

_ Quinn took her friend's hand, "It's okay. You can tell me."_

_ "No-"_

_ "San-"_

_ "I told her I love her, okay?" Santana tugged her hand away from Quinn's grasp. "You wanna know what she said? She loves me, but she loves Artie more! Nice to know I'm second best to a cripple!"_

_ Shocked, Quinn tried to consol Santana, "You're- you're not second to anyone! You're-"_

"_Bullshit!" Santana screamed, "I was always on Puck's back burner! He preferred just about any girl to me: Mercedes, Rachel, Lauren, you-"_

"_But Brittany's different, isn't she? You're her best friend-"_

"_Aren't you listening? She fucked me over! She won't break up with Artie, because she doesn't wanna hurt him! She's so concerned about how he feels - what about me? What about how I fucking hurt? I had to watch them cuddle in Glee and it was _disgusting_! Everyone thinks they're so cute – _they're not!_ I hate them! I hate him for stealing her! I fucking HATE HER-" Santana's rant was broken by anguished sobs. Quinn quickly wrapped the crying girl in her arms and rubbed her back soothingly. Santana buried her face into Quinn's neck, causing hot tears to roll down her comforter's skin._

"_Please, God," Quinn silently prayed, "give me the right words to say to her." The only idea that popped into Quinn's mind was a song. "That's it, Lord? Simon and Garfunkel?" She knew better than to seriously question divine authority, so she pressed her forehead against Santana's and quietly sang._

When you're weary

Feeling small

When tears are in your eyes

I will dry them all

_Santana's tears continued to flow freely, completely raw and broken in Quinn's arms._

I'm on your side

When times get rough

And friends just can't be found

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

_Santana began to sputter and dry heave, growing more and more frantic. Quinn kept rubbing her back and sang slightly louder._

I'll take your part

When darkness comes

And pain is all around

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

_They stayed locked together long after Santana's sobs turned silent. Eventually, Santana pulled away to look back at Quinn. Mirthlessly, she spoke up, "I got snot and make-up all over your shirt," A beat later, she added a sullen, "sorry."_

_Quinn smiled, gingerly lifting Santana's chin to meet her eyes, "I can wash the shirt, Santana."_

_Santana laughed, though there was not an ounce of cheer in her voice._

"_And San?"_

"_What, Quinn?"_

"_I could _never_ hate you for liking girls," Quinn held tight to her friend's face, so to make sure Santana could not turn away and miss the sincerity in her eyes. She watched as brown eyes flickered across her features, as if they were searching for any form of deception. Satisfied, dark orbs softened, and Santana broke out into a genuine smile for the first time all afternoon._

* * *

><p>Quinn rested her head on her girlfriend's shoulder with one headphone in her ear. Santana had the other ear bud; she was playing her newest "sexy times" playlist for Quinn. Her arm was protectively draped around the blonde's chair. After a particularly suggestive lyric, Quinn's cheeks flushed rosy red. Santana was about to whisper something utterly indecent in Quinn's ear when Mr. Shuester entered the choir room. Santana groaned in frustration.<p>

"All right, guys," he began in a voice far too chipper for a Monday, "this week, we're going to tackle an iconic musical duo, Simon and Garfunkel!"

Santana and Quinn shared a knowing smile. A tan hand squeezed a pale shoulder affectionately.

"Can't we do Britney again?" Kurt whined.

"No-"

"Can't we sing _Wicked_?" Rachel chimed in.

"Oh there's _no_ _way_ I'm putting up with Finn singing 'Popular'… again," Santana muttered disdainfully to Quinn. Quinn nodded, trying to force back the scarring memory.

"What the hell's wrong with Simon and Garfunkel?" Puck snapped, "Besides, I'm sick of Broadway!"

Rachel's mouth fell open, completely horrified. Before she could argue, Mr. Shuester cleared his throat. "Okay guys, settle down. I promise, next week, you can all pick out solos you want to sing."

"Like we haven't heard that before," Mercedes quipped under her breath.

"Guys, please. It's important for you to learn about these two," Mr. Shuester explained, "Simon and Garfunkel were brilliant American songwriters."

Most of the class was unconvinced.

"The ability to create an original piece of music is a gift," the teacher explained emphatically, "You all took your first crack at song writing a year ago during regionals. Sadly, we ran out of steam and lost in New York."

The room fell silent as the students faces hardened, reflecting on their disappointing loss to their rivals, Vocal Adrenaline.

"Now, I've never seen you stronger and more energetic than when you sang 'Loser Like Me'. So for nationals this year, we're going to write our own music again," Mr. Shuester continued, "We're going to learn from masters like Simon and Garfunkel to improve your writing. This year, we can't lose."

"You're not going to let anyone write about my mouth again, right Mr. Shue?" Sam asked.

"No songs about mouths, asses, or body parts of any kind, guys," Mr. Shuester said. A few students groaned in disappointment. "Now, I've got a sign up sheet for different Simon and Garfunkel songs. Pick a duet partner and then write your names next to the song you want to perform."

"Get our song, Babe," Santana whispered as Quinn walked toward the sign-up sheet on the piano. The blonde smiled, "Of course."

* * *

><p>"Ladies!" Puck called across the parking lot. Quinn and Santana turned, their hands intertwined. "Gonna be a lacrosse party at my house this Friday. First game of the season. Start hoarding booze!" He said with a mischievous grin.<p>

"What time does it start?" Santana asked, "Because I'm on duty that evening."

Puck's expression turned nervous.

"Chill out," Santana reassured, "like I'd say anything. I've been to every other sports party this year. Don't even think of un-inviting me. Us."

Puck relaxed. "Of course you're coming," he replied as he slung an arm around each girl, "You have any idea how much heat I'd take if I didn't invite McKinley's hottest lezzies?"

Quinn brushed off his shoulder. "Asshole!"

"Hey, I'm just kidding-"

"No seriously, Puck," Santana interjected, "when Quinn swears, she's serious. Lay off the gay slurs." Quinn marched over to Santana's jeep and slammed the door.

Puck winced at the sound. "I'm sorry, Santana. I really was just joking. I didn't mean to upset her."

"I know you didn't. Don't worry about it," Santana said, "Seriously, though. No more 'lezzies.' I'm cool with it, but Quinn isn't. So don't do it, please."

"But you call me lesbro-"

"Right," Santana agreed, "when she's not around."

"Okay. Won't happen again," Puck promised, "Anyway, the party starts after the game, around 10:30pm. Goes until people pass out. The boys and I are trying to score a keg. You two in?"

"Yeah," Santana answered, "we'll be there. I have to direct traffic and clear the parking lots before my shift ends, so we're gonna be late, though."

"I'll save you some shots," Puck winked and walked off towards his truck.

* * *

><p>"Say something, Quinn," Santana requested nervously. Quinn had sat silently with her arms folded the entire ride back to Lima Heights.<p>

"I'm just enjoying Lady Gaga and Beyonce," she answered dismissively.

"Okay then," Santana replied, not at all convinced. She began to sing along with the infectious tune.

_Boy the way you blowin' up my phone_

_Won't make me leave no faster_

_Put my coat on faster_

_Leave my girls no faster_

_I shoulda left my phone at home_

'_Cause this is a disaster_

"Santana, _stop_, please," Quinn begged.

"I knew something was wrong!" Santana asserted, "Just tell me what's bothering you!"

"A lot is bothering me lately, San," Quinn pointed out, "Let's see… I just came out to my parents last Friday, you threatened to skin my father, and I'm terrified my mother is in a drunken, half-dead state -any of this sound shitty to you?"

"You're stressed out," Santana surmised.

"Yes," the blonde replied, "Very. So forgive me if I'm not looking forward to a party with a bunch of pervy, drunken jocks this weekend."

"Those drunken jocks are our friends," Santana retorted.

"_Your_ friends."

"Uh, what about Sam? Mike? Finn? Puck when he's not being a douche bag?"

"I'm going to their game. They know I support them. I don't see why I have to attend the party."

"I just kind of figured… some fun would do you some good. Especially after last weekend."

"You are not listening to me," Quinn contended, "A party would not be fun. _At all_."

Santana sighed. "You really don't want to go?"

"I'll just be sitting there with my ginger ale, watching you play beer pong, or possibly holding your hair back while you throw up into Puck's dingy toilet. So yes, I really don't want to go." Quinn shifted in her seat to stare out the window, exposing as much of her back to her girlfriend as possible.

The pulled up to a stop sign. "What if I don't drink?" Santana asked, trailing the back of her hand up and down the blonde girl's spine.

Quinn laughed cynically.

"No seriously," Santana continued as she looked at her girlfriend sincerely, "I won't, I promise. I'll be sober by your side the whole time. And I'll keep the creepy idiots far away from you."

"You'd really go a whole night without getting hammered? Isn't that a record for you?" Quinn glanced over her shoulder, though her body was still facing away from Santana.

"If it means I get to dance with you until the sun comes up, then sure. You'll have my full attention." Gently, Santana tugged at the pale girl's shoulder, encouraging her to turn back to her. A manicured finger traced up and down Quinn's side.

Quinn's heart fluttered at the gesture. She was about to say something affectionate, when a grim possibility entered her mind. "Do you think _she_ will be there?"

"…You mean Britt?"

"Mmhmm. Brittany."

"Who cares?" Santana brought Quinn's hand to her lips and kissed it tenderly.

Quinn's face softened. "Light's green, love."

* * *

><p>"C'mon, Puckerman!" Lauren shouted, "Fucking <em>smash<em> his face in!"

Quinn scooted away, slightly fearful of the loud girl beside her.

"Look how tight their pants are," Rachel remarked in fascination.

"I know, it's great," Kurt answered, slightly dazed. "Thank Gaga Blaine plays lacrosse."

Mercedes laughed, tossing a piece of popcorn at the mesmerized boy's head. Disgusted, he carefully plucked the kernel out of his perfectly styled hair and dropped it between the bleachers.

Quinn shifted her gaze from the field to scan the sideline. There, on the spectator's side of the fence, half way down the field, was her girlfriend. Santana stood stoically, clad in her black uniform. "Auxiliary officer" was written in bold white letters across the back of her vest. A rush of heat jolted from Quinn's core up to her stomach. To Quinn, Santana in uniform was the sexiest sight in the world. Well, second sexiest, next to a naked Santana-

"Whoo, go Mike!" Tina's cheering snapped Quinn out of her daydreaming. Mike had just scored a goal on Rowan County High School. Some of the McKinley cheerleaders back flipped, while others shimmied suggestively. Quinn sighed; their form was awful (all of them, except for the captain, Brittany Pierce). How Sue Sylvester didn't impale the inadequate Cheerios with an endangered narwhal tusk right then and there was a mystery to Quinn.

"I'll be right back," she told the rest of the Glee kids.

"Hey, can you get more popcorn?" Mercedes asked. Kurt shook his head and mouthed a silent plea against the idea.

"Where you going, Blondie?" Lauren inquired.

"Bathroom."

* * *

><p>Quinn reached up for a paper towel when she heard the restroom door close and lock with a "click." Strong hands encircled her wrists from behind.<p>

"Keep your hands on the sink," A stern voice ordered, forcefully placing her palms on the cool ceramic.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow. To her delight, she knew the owner of that voice. Looking up, she locked eyes with the Latina officer staring back at her in the mirror.

"I'm going to frisk you, so don't move." Dropping to her knees, Santana wrapped her hands around Quinn's left calf and slowly slid her hands upward. Just before reaching Quinn's center, she switched to the right leg and repeated the sensual action, earning a groan from the aroused girl in front of her. Upon standing, Santana slid her palms under her girlfriend's shirt, caressing her stomach and ribcage. Quinn panted dizzily as Santana's hands cupped the undersides of her breasts.

"Santana-"

"You have the right to remain silent, Miss-"

"Santana! Stop reenacting _Los Hombres de Paco_ and just get on with it!"

A lascivious smile danced across Santana's face; she made sure Quinn saw her reflection before she began nipping at the shell of the blonde's ear. "As you wish," she husked, quickly flipping Quinn to face her while unbuttoning the pale girl's jeans at seemingly the same time. Quinn gasped as Santana slid two fingers into eager, hot wetness without warning. She pulled Santana flush against her and moaned in her girlfriend's ear.

"How much time do we have?"

"Fifteen minutes," Santana whispered as she circled Quinn's clit with her thumb.

Quinn's response was lost in her throat as she threw back her head in ecstasy.

* * *

><p>"You sure you don't need a ride, Quinn?" Mike asked politely, his arm draped around Tina's shoulder.<p>

"Yeah, Mike," she answered, slightly distracted, "I'm okay. Gonna wait." Her eyes drifted over her friend's shoulder. Mike smiled knowingly as he turned to look at the source of Quinn's distraction. Santana was directing traffic on the far side of the parking lot. Rather, she was intimidating cars into following her commands. For such a slight woman, Santana was downright scary on duty, having mastered the quintessential "pissed off cop" expression. She blew her whistle loudly, flashing an icy, authoritative glare at any driver foolish enough to disrupt the flow of traffic. Santana liked her parking lots emptied _very_ quickly. Fortunately, auxiliary officers did not carry guns, otherwise Santana might have fired a warning shot at reckless idiots trying to cut off other spectators.

She did, however, once fill up a car with mace. Two freshmen were fucking in a far corner of the lot and well… Santana wanted them to leave, so she could get her _own_ cuddle on. They were both extremely unattractive as well, so in Santana's judgmental mind, they had no business having intercourse. She slipped a thin extension onto the sprayer's nozzle and inserted the instrument under the weather stripping of the window, nearly emptying her bottle of mace into the cabin of the car. The moronic boy claimed to have been rendered sterile from the massive exposure of chemicals (which, according to Santana, was utter horseshit.) Anytime he whined about it within earshot of Santana, however, she would spray a puff of mace in his direction, and he would promptly flee. No students have since messed around in the McKinley Field parking lot.

At fifteen past eleven, the Latina sidled up to Quinn, who was nodding off while leaning against the Wrangler. Santana wrapped her arms around the drowsy girl. "Hey, sexy."

"Mmm," Quinn responded smiling, "hey yourself." She returned the embrace, resting her cheek against the shorter girl's temple.

"What are you doing out here? If you're tired, you should've gotten in the jeep and locked the door. It's dark."

"I'm fine; I'm under the street lamp. Besides, I've got Lima's number one cop watching my back," Quinn said playfully, tapping her finger to Santana's nose.

"I'm watching every part of you, baby," Santana returned, nuzzling her face into silky blonde hair.

"Not like we're in Lima Heights or anything," Quinn added sleepily.

"True," Santana chuckled, "get in the car, Cariña." Santana opened the door and buckled Quinn into her seat before bounding to the driver side door. She paused before starting the jeep. "Do you want to skip Puck's tonight?"

Quinn rubbed her eyes. "I'll be okay. I'll drink a red bull or something when we get there. Or four."

"You're a beast, Fabray."

"Damn right."

"Wow, you really _are_ tired, potty mouth," Santana assessed before wheeling out of the empty parking lot.

"So," Santana began as she intertwined their fingers, "did anyone notice your 'just fucked in the bathroom' afterglow?"

Quinn pondered this for a moment. "Don't think so. Lauren was too preoccupied with encouraging a bloody massacre, and everyone else had a popcorn-throwing war," Slightly embarrassed, she added, "we nearly got kicked out."

"The popcorn hurlers were _you guys_?" Santana asked incredulously.

Quinn nodded uncomfortably. "Well, they were. I didn't throw any."

"Oh, of course not. What were you doing, then?"

"Staring shamelessly at your ass on the sidelines."

Santana squeezed Quinn's hand affectionately. "I can see if you can stand with me during the next game's half-time. I doubt my sergeant will mind if it's one time, as long as they don't need me elsewhere."

No response.

"Uh, baby?" Santana shook Quinn's hand in an effort to get her attention.

"Hmm – what?" Quinn asked sleepily.

"That's it. We're going home."

"No, babe, please! I'm fine."

Santana sighed. "Okay, hold on a minute then," she said as she pulled to the side of the road. "I gotta change." After putting her jeep in park, Santana reached behind her seat and grabbed a pair of black skinny jeans. She stepped out of the car and came around to Quinn's side, effectively giving her an eye-full as she stripped out of her vest, button down shirt, and pants. She kept on her white tank top and yanked on her jeans. Quinn's breath hitched in her throat at the sight of her girlfriend. Santana quickly climbed back into her jeep and put in silver hoop earrings. "How do I look?"

Quinn grinned. "I am so awake now."

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Longer chapter than the others. Next up – party time! There's going to be some drama that may include a certain _other_ blonde in Santana's life…


	5. Caught in a Bad Romance

**Disclaimer**: Don't own Glee. Wish I did, so I could be near Naya and Dianna every day. I'd probably pass out from joy though…

**A/N:** So I decided to flashback to how Santana and Quinn get together in the _next_ chapter. Right now, it's a lacrosse party extravaganza!

Mantra

Chapter 5: Caught in a Bad Romance

It was vexing times such as these that had Santana convinced that she was bound to become a stone-cold alcoholic. She understood the subject was not one to be taken lightly (especially since her beloved's mother was a pitiful drunk.) Though at parties, it was as if alcohol _spoke_ to her. Relentlessly. In both English and Spanish. The seemingly endless bottles of liquor beckoned her loudly to the kitchen, chanting, "Fucking drink us, Amiga!" She _must_ have been hallucinating, because in her mind, party guests were _taunting_ her with their shots of tequila. Even the overwhelming stench of beer emanating from Puck's breath entered her nostrils like a bubble of pure air in an otherwise smog-engulfed city. Yes, she decided: Santana was deeply booze-deprived ( a matter to discuss with Ms. Pillsbury… eventually.)

"Baby," her girlfriend's doe-eyed expression and husky voice pulled the dark-haired girl out of her alcoholic daydreams, "dance with me?"

Santana smiled brightly. "Absolutely."

And then Quinn would grind her hips suggestively into Santana's front, reminding the Latina that her girlfriend was the most intoxicating entity in God's creation. A quick drop of her head to a pale neck to discreetly lick at Quinn's pulse point confirmed that the blonde girl was also infinitely sweeter-tasting than even the best-crafted rum. Suddenly, Santana's urge to drink was hastily replaced by a far more primal craving.

Seriously, who needs Jack Daniels anyway?

Quinn spun to face her, draping her arms loosely around Santana's neck, and both girls rolled their hips in time with the song blaring throughout the living room. Santana stared shamelessly at the radiant women in her arms. Sweat glistened on fair skin; even in the dark, flecks of honey and amber shimmered in loving eyes. Santana could not help but notice, however, the hazy quality in Quinn's eyes, indicative of drowsiness, and how Quinn became progressively limper in Santana's embrace.

"Still tired, baby?" Santana had to press her face against Quinn's ear, so she did not have to shout over the music and energetic people around them.

Quinn nodded. "I think I need another Monster." If Santana was predisposed to alcohol dependence, Quinn was equally addicted to caffeine. And sugar. And taurine. And whatever other carcinogens that are packed into the dubious aluminum cans. Santana shook her head. "No, you're not having anymore. That shit will rot your insides," She pulled gently on Quinn's arm as she led her away from the dance floor. "C'mon." Santana scanned the bodies around her for that mischievous, mohawked boy. Finally, she found him, beer in hand, leaning against his pool table.

"Puck," she waved her hand in his face to get his attention, "can we use your room?"

His face curled into a wolfish grin. "Are you seriously gonna have sex in my bed? If so, only if I'm there too," his words tumbled out, slightly slurred, "I may be drunk, but not gone enough to miss out on an opportunity like this."

Santana scowled, punching him in the bicep. "No, perv! We just wanna go somewhere quiet."

He glanced at both girls. Quinn swayed slightly, her eyes drooping from fatigue. "Well, my room's taken. You can go to my folks' room; it's at the end of the hall. But hey, if you end up fucking, use the floor, not their bed. Some things are sacred!"

"Fuck off, Puck!" Santana tossed over her shoulder, slamming his parents' bedroom door loudly.

Quinn planted face-first onto the bed. "_Eim sawwy eim sew leym_," Her words were muffled through the pillows.

Santana giggled, perching on the end of the bed, rubbing Quinn's back. "Uh, what was that, cutie?"

Quinn rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow. "I said 'I'm sorry I'm so lame'." She frowned, though the expression was broken by a deep yawn.

"Don't worry about it," Santana cooed, "do you wanna go home?"

The blonde shook her head. "No, you've been looking forward to this all week. I just need a second to-" she paused to yawn again.

Santana cocked an eyebrow. "How about you crash here, and I'll go play pool with the guys. Just one game, and then we'll go, okay?"

Quinn nodded, dropping her head back to the pillows.

"Lock the door when I leave," Santana said, "and don't open it until I call your phone." She pulled Quinn's cell out of her jeans' pocket, turning the volume up completely, and then placed it on the nightstand.

"You gonna hustle Puck?" Quinn mumbled, rubbing her face with her hand.

"Gotta add to the college fund somehow," Santana replied with a wink, closing the bedroom door behind her.

* * *

><p>The best thing about being the only sober person playing pool? Way easier to make money off of idiots. Santana smiled in triumph, patting the thick wad of twenties in her pocket. Her winning streak had to be broken, however, after her third cup of water.<p>

"Puck, bathroom?"

He stumbled, leaning against his pool cue for balance. "Uh… that-a-way!"

There was only one bathroom in the Puckerman household, and it was upstairs. The stairwell was littered with drunken human bodies like a minefield. The sober girl glared in disgust at the inebriated forms rolling at her feet, nearly knocking her backward as she climbed up the stairs. Perhaps she would continue to refrain from drinking in public, if she actually looked like these dumbasses when she herself was under the influence.

* * *

><p>It was when she was drying her hands that Santana heard the bathroom door creak open. She was not in the least bit alarmed, because blonde hair instantly fell gently onto her shoulders. Quinn was awake, and found her in the bathroom.<p>

_Sweet._

Her assumption was cemented when smooth, pale limbs encircled her waist from behind. Santana sighed affectionately as she leaned into the embrace. Her heart thumped madly in pleasure, knowing that she was about to get lucky in a bathroom for the _second_ time in one night. Eyes closed, she turned her head slightly, inhaling deeply to draw in Quinn's enchanting scent.

_Watermelon_.

The inner workings of Santana's mind screeched to a jerky halt as her eyes shot open. Quinn smelled of vanilla and honey, _not_ watermelon, and definitely _not_ cherry vodka. Looking down, she suddenly noticed how the arms hugging her were longer and more slender than Quinn's, and that the body behind her towered over her. Even in heels, Quinn was only a couple inches taller than Santana. The yellow, plastic duck ring on her company's index finger clarified her identify beyond a doubt.

_Shit._

"Brittany," Santana whispered, her voice laced with distress.

"Hi, San!" The stealthy girl chirped, flashing a blinding smile into the mirror. Santana desperately pried her captor's arms from around her middle as she tried to spin around; Brittany promptly placed her hands on the sink, effectively pinning the Latina against the porcelain surface.

"Britt," Santana rasped, "I need to get out of here."

"Nooo, Sanny," Brittany drew out, clearly intoxicated, "_I mees yew_." The blonde brought her hand up to cup Santana's cheek, though in her drunken state, she lacked her signature grace, nearly stabbing a brown eye with her pink, manicured nail. Santana forcefully slapped away the hand as she tried to dart away to the door; Brittany grasped her by the shoulder and pushed her back up against the sink. "_Please_, San," Brittany begged, "I just wanna talk."

Though her heart was sinking at the sight of the sad state of her former friend, Santana mustered up as much bite to her voice as possible. "Anything you have to say to me, say it to me when you're _sober_. And not in private. Now let me go. My _girlfriend_ is waiting for me."

Brittany's face fell two stories. "But you're here now," she pointed out, "with me."

"I shouldn't be," Santana answered, more to herself than to her former best friend. She hesitantly looked at the girl in front of her; Brittany's face contorted in a miserable frown. Santana's heart ached; _Poor girl_ she secretly thought. "Britt, _come on_," she whined, "Just let me out of here."

"But you're the only person here I wanna talk to!" Glassy eyes bore into tan flesh, trying to drive home sincerity into Santana's skin.

"We've barely spoken three sentences to each other in a year. What could possibly be so important that you had to get drunk and restrain me in a bathroom to say?" Irritated began to flare low in her belly. There was an excellent reason why the two girls barely exchanged words. It killed Santana to have to cut off her life-long friend, but she was committed to Quinn. Maintaining a strict friendship with Brittany was impossible, because Brittany, bless her, did not understand the concept of boundaries. _Eggs_ were far too intellectually complex for the spacey, though endearing, girl. Boundaries? Incomprehensible.

"I just miss you," Santana rolled her eyes at the redundant statement. "Nobody does the duck calls right," Brittany explained, "Not like you can do, when we would go to the pond behind the library."

Santana smiled sadly at the statement. Such a Brittany thing to say. "If you want," she tried to negotiate, "we can go there after Glee on Monday. When you're _sober_. And we can talk like old times. If you really want to." She held her breath, hoping that she could capitalize on this opportunity to bolt.

Brittany's eyes widened, nodding her head fervently in approval. Santana gently patted the taller girl's shoulder, trying once again to push away to the door. Brittany, in her compromised mental state, misread these gestures, seeing them as a signal to wrap Santana into a bone-crunching hug. Just as she went to crush an appreciative, sloppy kiss to Santana's cheek, the bathroom door flew open-

"Hey stud, Puck said you were in here-" Quinn stopped short at the horrifying sight in front of her. Santana was snuggly wrapped up in Brittany's arms. The lanky blonde was frozen in place, her lips still stuck against Santana's face. The two of them together, alone, in the bathroom. What a sight. A fucking spectacular, unbelievable, _unforgivable_ sight.

"Quinn, baby listen to me-" Santana's explanation was drowned by acidic energy drink splashing painfully into her face.

"Fucking. Cheating. Bitch!" Quinn then heaved the can in the direction of the girls, narrowly missing them both as it shattered the mirror behind them. By the time Santana whipped her head back to the doorway, Quinn had already raced down the stairs and burst out of Puck's front door. Santana dashed after her devastated girlfriend, not giving a damn about the confused (and mildly amused) glances of the other party goers. She did not care in the slightest bit about the inevitable tabloid headlines she was creating for Jacob Ben Israel's inane blog. Her mind had zeroed in on making Quinn understand. Within moments, Santana caught up to her, snagging the other girl by the wrist.

"Quinn, listen-"

"How could you?" Quinn had whirled around to grab Santana by the straps of her tank top, ripping the Latina in close to the seething girl. "How- what-just- _how_! How could you do that to me, _with her_!"

"I didn't do anything!" Santana argued angrily, "If you would just fucking listen to me, I could explain-"

"-How you ended up tangled against your ex with her lips latched onto your face? Yes, please, I'd love to hear this explanation!" Quinn let go of Santana's clothes, bitterly shoving the other girl. Santana staggered for a moment on the sidewalk.

"Calm the _fuck_ down, Quinn!" Santana commanded, "This is ridiculous! Listen closely, because I will not let this relationship crumble because of a petty misunderstanding!"

"Oh, I'm _so sorry_," Quinn snapped sarcastically, "I didn't realize catching my girlfriend cheating on me constituted petty-"

"Stop right there!" Santana shrieked, "Don't you dare finish that bullshit sentence! I did not cheat on you! I have _never_ cheated on you!" She panted with rage, "You know what? If you honestly believe that I am capable of being unfaithful to you, then this situation is not even worth explaining! Not until you come to your _fucking senses_!"

Quinn gasped in disbelief. "Given the circumstances, I'm thinking quite clearly! What other conclusion am I supposed to make when I walk in on the two of you making out in the bathroom?" Memories of hours earlier flooded back into Quinn's consciousness. "You are just unbelievable, Lopez! Was fucking me in the bathroom not enough for you? Did you wait for me to go back to the lax game before screwing her in the back of some police cruiser?"

"You stupid bitch!" Santana spat, "You know, you're pretty quick to accuse me here, not even giving me the chance to explain myself. Besides, between the two of us, _you're_ the one with the lengthy history of _cheating_!" God Himself winced at the supremely poor choice of words. Santana was not totally unprepared for the stinging slap that connected with her face. Subconsciously, she knew she had it coming the moment Quinn discovered Brittany and Santana in the bathroom.

Quinn's irises were hollow, drained of all spirit, as tears flowed down her cheeks. Silently, she spun on her heels, sprinting into the dark. Santana made no effort to follow her. Instead, she considered marching back into the house, pouring herself the most gargantuan glass of liquor ever in existence. She briefly contemplated binge-drinking into a blacked-out oblivion.

_Fuck that_.

The enraged Latina swiftly kicked her jeep's tire, not even registering the pain shooting through her foot. She stomped over to the driver seat and sped off toward Lima Heights Adjacent. Without Quinn. At this point, Santana really did not give a flying fuck where her girlfriend was. She did not care when she slammed her front door. She definitely was not concerned when she stomped up the stairs. Anger consumed her completely as she threw open her bedroom door and forcefully kicked it closed. Thank goodness her parents were away ( mother was a flight attendant, and her father was a Peace Corps doctor); her tantrum would have awoken even the heaviest sleeper. She sent her book bag flying across the room as she kicked it, diving face-first onto her bed, fully intending on lying there until she fell asleep.

Her lack of concern lasted until the moment she landed onto her bed, noticing the empty place beside her.

"_Aw, fuck me!" _she shrilled, jolting up into a seated position.

Santana became feverish with guilt, texting everyone she and Quinn knew, trying to locate the blonde girl. It was after 1:00am, and virtually every contact in her phone was passed out from overconsumption of alcohol. Growing more and more anxious, Santana forwarded the same text over and over.

"_Where is she?_"

After an agonizing, unknown amount of time, Santana's phone beeped obnoxiously. She bounced up, fumbling with her cell, trying to read the new message. The response came from Mercedes. "_She's here. Do not come to get her_."

Relieved and heartbroken at the same, Santana sank back into her pillows. Grief and exhaustion overtook her into a dreamless, fitful sleep.

* * *

><p>The sun appeared much quicker than Santana was ready for. Groaning, she rolled over to see if she had received any texts.<p>

_Inbox empty._

"Fucking figures," she growled in frustration. She punched a number and pressed the phone tightly against her ear, feeling the side of her head pulse against the device.

"Hey Santana!" She immediately tilted the top of her phone away from her. Finn's voice was far too cheery first thing in the morning.

"Got any plans today?" she asked monotonously.

"Well, yeah actually, I was thinking of-"

"Hey that's great, but you're not gonna do that. Call the guys and get your guns. We're shooting in your uncle's yard."

"Uh… cool," the confused boy replied, "let me call and ask him-"

"Yeah, do that, and tell Puck and Sam for me. I'm too pissed to talk to anyone who's hung over this early in the morning."

"Santana," Finn said warily, "are you all right?"

"Fucking _peachy_, Finnocence. Just gotta blow off some steam. We doing this or what?"

He paused, contemplating whether or not it would be wise to refuse. He opted against doing so. "Sure, come over in an hour, I guess. I'll drive everybody."

"Good," she slammed her phone shut, not bothering to say goodbye.

* * *

><p><em>Crack.<em>

The watermelon perched on a tree stump exploded, spewing wet chucks all over the muddy field. Santana smirked in satisfaction.

"Isn't this dangerous?" Kurt asked from behind her, tugging off his fuzzy, pink headphones he used as ear protection, "I mean, can't the bullet travel into a neighbor's house?"

"It's a hollow point bullet, chill," Santana called back loudly. The blank look on the delicate boy's face spurred her to explain, "The bullet shatters on impact. And the hill over there buffers any shrapnel. Besides, there's not a trailer park for miles, right Finn?"

The tall boy nodded quickly, starring in fright at the remnants of obliterated fruit.

"I still don't get why we're shooting at _fruit_," Puck, with his ears plugged, had to shout to Sam, though he did not mean for the Latina to hear him.

"Juice looks like blood from afar," she yelled in annoyance, pointing her rifle down the field as she loaded more ammunition into the firearm. Sam, Puck, and Finn exchanged fearful glanced as they aimed their own weapons at the bulbous watermelons fifty yards away.

_Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang._

"Not that watching you blow shit up isn't totally hot, Lopez, but is there a reason why we're here?" Puck asked, still staring down his scope.

"Like you said," she answered dismissively, "blowing shit up is hot."

_Boom._

"Do you feel lucky, Punk?" Sam whooped, failing miserably at imitating Clint Eastwood, "well, do you?"

"Shut up and shoot, Dirty Harry!" Santana barked.

_Bang._

"Okay, enough with the alpha Neanderthal posturing!" Kurt huffed, throwing down his _Advocate_ magazine, "why don't you tell us why you feel the need to violently unleash your pent-up anger on _produce_?"

Santana ignored his inquiries and loaded her gun again.

"Hey don't shoot!" Puck begged, "My ear plug fell out!"

"Hurry up and find it, ya pansy!" She spat back angrily.

Sam pulled his bulky headphones down around his neck. "Seriously, Santana, is something wrong?"

"Fuck, no, Froggy Lips."

"Did something happen with _Quinn_?" Kurt asked facetiously, pretending that he wasn't exchanging lengthy texts with Mercedes.

"Wait, is Quinn okay?" Finn asked, concern written all over his face.

"My _girlfriend_ is fine, _Sasquatch_," Santana sneered. "Don't worry about her." He nodded, clearly hurt, as he loaded his own rifle.

"Seriously, my ear plug, guys! Help me find it!" Puck whined, "I only brought two!"

Rolling her eyes, Santana jostled the lever action, causing the chambered bullet to pop out of the ejection port. Finn did the same, and the five teenagers crawled around in the mud, searching for the lost ear piece. Santana pretended not to notice the concerned glances Kurt was covertly sending her.

* * *

><p>Santana possessed a few less than redeeming qualities. She was prone to physical violence. She refused to censor herself in anyone's presence (other than high-ranking members of the police force.) She was a hardcore cynic. But she was also reliable and protective, which is why she was sitting anxiously in her jeep in the Grace Church parking lot, waiting for Quinn to emerge from the Sunday service with her parents. She and Quinn may have not spoken all Saturday, but that did not mean that she would subject her girlfriend to going home with her abhorrent parents. She did not care if Quinn berated her the whole ride back to her house, or screamed at her until her voice was hoarse. Quinn could say or do anything to Santana, as long as she was safely away from her parents.<p>

_Knock, knock, knock._

_Aw, shit_ Santana cursed silently, trying to ignore the persistent tapping on her window.

"Lopez, roll down your damn window!" Mercedes demanded.

The Latina rolled her eyes in annoyance. She cracked her window a sliver. "What, Wheezy?"

"Get out of the car," Mercedes answered, placing her hands on her hips, tapping her foot.

Santana put on her toughest expression, though her eyes could not hide the obvious fear she harbored for the other girl. Only a hand full of people could take Santana in a throw down – Mercedes was one of the proud few. Reluctantly, she stepped out of the jeep. "What the hell do _you_ want?"

"No, you don't get to ask any questions," the diva said, waving a finger, "_I_ do."

The Latina scowled, but she stayed obediently silent.

"When a dear friend of mine shows up at my house at nearly one in the morning, tears streaming down her face, collapsing on my porch, I get pretty pissy. Makes a girl wanna break the neck of whoever put her in that state. Get where I'm going with this?"

"Hang on, let me get out my phone and record that threat," Santana replied sarcastically.

"Lopez," the other girl sneered, "what the _fuck_ did you do?"

"I didn't fucking _do_ anything! Why do people just jump to conclusions and assume _I_ fucked up?"

"Oh you're right, my bad. My weave must be on too tight and I imagined the whole thing. But then that wouldn't explain why I had to get my ass out of bed at freaking 8:45am and drop Quinn off at church, when I have my own service to sing at later today."

"She could have called me to come get her," Santana grumbled, staring at a crack in the sidewalk.

"She can't even say your name," Mercedes pointed out, "so stop with the whole "I'm innocent" act, unless you're ready to give me your side of the story."

Santana sighed, glancing at the intricate stained glass window of the church. "She completely overreacted!"

Mercedes just glared, waiting for the other girl to continue.

"We went to Puck's party…" Santana began, "she fell asleep in his parents' room. I went to the bathroom and Brittany came in, totally drunk, and backed me up against the sink. When she came on to me, I tried to leave, but I couldn't do that unless I head butted her in the face, and I really had no desire to do that."

"Get to the point where Quinn gets pissed off," Mercedes chided, narrowing her eyes.

"Haven't you been listening? Anyway, Quinn walks in and sees us. I know it looked bad, but I really didn't do anything! Britt's the one who kissed _me_!"

"You kissed Brittany?" Mercedes' mouth fell open in shock.

"No! _She_ kissed _me_! And it wasn't even on the lips, but Quinn's convinced we were sneaking around behind her back. We fought about it, and she took off before I had the chance to explain."

"Why didn't you go after her?" Mercedes wore a suspicious expression.

"Because I'm a stubborn fuck-up!" The Latina's eyes misted over, turning away so the other girl could not see.

Mercedes shook her head. "You two are effing ridiculous."

"Come again?"

"You could have avoided this whole thing if you just talked it out. But you both revel in the drama. Freaking masochists."

"I am not enjoying this in the least," Santana growled, "Do not suggest otherwise!"

"You're both fools," Mercedes countered, "and you know as well as I do that Quinn is too stubborn, too proud, to reach out to you first."

"What the fuck do you think I'm doing here, then?" Santana screeched in exasperation, "I just want her to come home..." she whined remorsefully, her voice much quieter, "…to my house."

Mercedes' features softened considerably. "I know she does, too," she divulged, "but she won't let you know that. You're gonna have to work for it."

"This is so stupid," Santana muttered bitterly.

"Yeah," Mercedes agreed, slinging an arm around the Latina, "it's _really_ stupid. Quinn's got enough stressing her, and so do you."

Santana nodded dejectedly, trying to hold back tears. Crying in public, in front of anyone other than Quinn for that matter, was a personal taboo.

"You two have been through too much to let cheap crap like this get between you two," As Mercedes spoke, people started filing out of the church. Santana stopped listening immediately, scanning for the beautiful blonde. Toward the end of the crowd, the minister emerged, chatting with Mr. and Mrs. Fabray. Quinn trailed behind, her face visibly pained, even from a great distance. Her eyes tentatively locked with Santana's.

The Latina choked back a sob. "Yeah, Mercedes, _believe_ me, I know we have."

"She needs you, ya know." Mercedes awkwardly patted Santana's shoulder.

The other girl shrugged the hand off, not breaking her gaze with Quinn. Silently, she thought to herself, _I need her too_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I know this angsty stuff many seem ridiculous right now, but it's going to lead to a Santana soul-baring moment. Stay tuned. But before that, perhaps your spirits will be lifted with Quinntana beginnings, chronicled in the next chapter.


	6. Leather Studded Kiss in the Sand

**A/N:** So here's how Santana and Quinn become Quinntana. For those of you that religiously follow the show, my Santana does not blackmail Karofsky, nor does she attend the prom with him (because remember, she hit him with a chair.)

Mantra

Chapter 6: Leather Studded Kiss in the Sand

"_What the _fuck_ is your problem, Fabray?" Santana shouted after Quinn as the paler girl tried to race up her porch steps. She fumbled frantically with her keys, but she could not open the door in time to retreat into her house. Santana was mere inches behind her._

"_Hey! I asked you a question, dammit!"_

_Quinn's face flashed from anguish to her patented head-bitch-in-charge snarl. She had not busted out this expression in months, though now she desperately needed her friend to back down. This was the only way. "Santana, lower your voice!" she hissed, "I have neighbors!"_

"_Fuck your neighbors!" Santana threw up her hands in frustration, "And don't you dare change the subject! Seriously, what the hell is going through that blonde head of yours, huh?"_

_Quinn could already feel her resolve faltering. "Get out of here! Just go home," was all she could muster. It sounded much more pathetic out loud than in her head. She felt hot. No, sweltering. And the humid, late afternoon July sun was not helping at all._

_"No," Santana countered, "I'm not leaving until you tell me why you freaked out over me and Britt making out last night!"_

_ Hazel eyes darted nervously around the neighborhood. No one looked up from their lawnmowers; no one had heard Santana. She grabbed at the blue tank top the tan girl was wearing and yanked her into the house. "If we're going to talk," Quinn explained, "you're gonna have to calm down. I am not having a shouting match with you. I just won't do it."_

_ "That's fine with me. Just answer my question."_

_ "What question?"_

_ Brown irises did summersaults. "The second I told you about me and Brittany, you bolted. I thought you'd be happy for me! Why the hell are you acting like this?"_

_ "Acting like _what_?" Quinn snapped, completely exasperated._

_ "Like a jealous bitch!" Santana spat angrily. This felt wrong. This was the old them. Where no effective communication ever transpired, and all respect had been tossed out the window. Santana's head was spinning with rage, but also sadness, realizing how easy it was for the two of them to slip back into their former roles._

_ Quinn's head, on the other hand, felt like it had been crushed by a freight train. "Je-jealous? You… you cannot be serious."_

_ "As a heart attack, Fabray. What the fuck is wrong with you?"_

_ "Stop it! Stop cursing at me!"_

_ "Get over it and tell me what's the matter with you, then!" Santana chided, her patience rapidly eroding to dust, "Seriously, do you have a problem with me being gay? Because if you do, tell me now, so I can find a new best friend who isn't a judgmental-"_

_ "Do _not_ finish that sentence!" Quinn roared, catching her friend off-guard with her insistence, "Don't you _dare_ accuse me of being intolerant, when you know how much I support you! I've told you before how it doesn't bother me in the least!"_

_ Santana shook her head angrily. She wanted to believe Quinn when she said she accepted her, but she knew that the blonde was holding something back. Determined to ferret out the truth, she pressed further, "If that's the case, why are you freaking out over me and Britt?"_

_ Quinn searched for the right words. Safe words that wouldn't incriminate her or reveal her suppressed emotions. "Because she - she was horrible to you, San! How could you possibly think I'd be happy for you? You got drunk, she got drunk, and she took advantage of your feelings by sticking her tongue down your throat. I fail to see the good in this situation!"_

_ "Okay, you could've just said that. Why'd you have to make me chase you all the way home from the park?" Santana's suspicious eyes tried to meet Quinn's, but hazel orbs avoided hers._

_ "I was angry."_

_ "Angry over what? It's my life!"_

_ "I know that, dumbass!" Quinn abandoned all social graces and let the expletives flow freely into her consciousness. "What I don't get is why you'd go crawling back to that - that bitch! I thought you said you've moved on!"_

_ "I have!"Santana insisted, throwing her arms into the air._

_ "Then why would you kiss Brittany? Why would you do that to me?" Quinn's voice box betrayed her. Horrified, she screwed her eyes shut and stalked into the kitchen. Santana hastily followed._

_ "What did you just say?" Santana asked, her tone was a mix of disbelief and hope._

_ "I misspoke. Just drop it."_

_ "Ha! Don't play with me, Quinn. How does Britt and I kissing have anything to do with you? I _cannot wait_ to hear this."_

_ "Let it go, Santana Maria Lopez," Quinn snarled. She was a cornered lioness in a dank pit. She expected Santana to explode in frustration, or break something, or swear at her again. She was completely unprepared, however, for Santana's next move. The dark-haired girl's eyes glistened with tears as she stepped into Quinn's personal space, placing her hands on the taller girl's slender hips._

_ "I can't," her voice was strained with emotion, "I can't let it go, Quinn. Please, tell me."_

_ Quinn's heart felt like it was going to burst. Her mind was fuzzy, and she fought to stand upright. Even through her clothes, Santana's fingers felt volcanic to the touch. "T-t-take your hands off of me. Right. Now."_

_ "Really?" Santana whispered as her hands slid to the small of Quinn's back, "Because I think you don't really want me to." Brown eyes searched desperately for a glimmer of hope in Quinn's expression._

_ Quinn began to pant anxiously. Being so close to the girl who had been constantly preoccupying her thoughts as of late caused her synapses to misfire in her brain. They had touched before, but this was vastly different. She felt like she had been smeared with toxins and Santana's caress was her only antidote; feeling so dependant on the Latina made her nauseous. She desperately had to snuff out whatever "this" was between her and Santana immediately. With as much venom as she could muster, Quinn replied, "Then you're not thinking _at all_. Big surprise."_

_ Santana's mouth fell open, prompting tears to stream down her cheeks."Quinn-"_

_ "And neither am I. _Now go!_"Almost as soon as she finished her sentence, she felt Santana's hands tear away from her. Her front door slammed moments later. Quinn crumbled to the tile floor like a deck of cars. Having Santana in such close proximity might have burned, but in her absence, Quinn felt like she was drowning._

* * *

><p><em> "Please come back," She couldn't make five hours before reaching out to her friend. She'd crawl back on all fours if she had to, though the thought was utterly unappealing, as well as humiliating. Quinn didn't do humiliation, not anymore. Or so she thought.<em>

_ She was met with silence on the other line._

_ "Please, Santana," Her voice sounded pitiful, as well as hoarse from gut-wrenching crying. Moonlight streaked in between her curtains. Her parents were out to dinner with friends from church; Quinn was miserable and alone in the dark._

_ "Whatever you have to say," a monotone voice replied, "say it over the phone."_

_ "You know I can't do that, San." Fresh tears swelled in Quinn's eyes._

_ "I don't know anything, Fabray. I'm not 'thinking, at all', remember?" Her monotonous inflection was replaced with bitter sarcasm._

_ "I want you here with me," Quinn pressed earnestly, "Please."_

_ More silence._

_ "I really don't think I can do that, Quinn." Santana's voice began to quake. She jabbed her palm into her eyes to rid herself of her own new tears. She silently cursed herself for failing to disguise her obvious heartbreak._

_ "Honey," Quinn begged, "Just come back. I need you." She swore she heard a faint whimper on the other line._

_ "Fine. I'll be there in about twenty minutes," Before Quinn could question her, Santana explained, "It's gonna take me a while, okay? I'm gonna have to drive slowly. Really fucking slowly."_

_ It was the most agonizing twenty minutes of Quinn's life._

_ Santana found that the front door was unlocked, so she hesitantly stepped into the austere Fabray residence. She marched up the stairs, straight to the blonde's room. Deciding against knocking, she swung open the door. Quinn lay on her bed with her face to the wall._

_ "I'm really pissed at you," Santana announced._

_ "I'm not gay, Santana," was Quinn's surprising response._

_ Stunned, Santana crossed the room briskly, climbed onto the bed, and wrapped her arm around Quinn from behind. Quinn made no effort to shove her off. "No one ever said you're gay, Quinn."_

_ "You're thinking it," she muttered, "You think I'm jealous of Brittany for kissing you at Kurt and Finn's bonfire. I'm not jealous, and I'm not gay."_

_ "Me thinks she doth protests too much," Santana whispered into her friend's shoulder._

_ "S-s-eriously!" Quinn stammered, "I'm _not_ a lesbian, okay?"_

_ "Yeah, I got that, Quinn," Santana replied, "Like I said, nobody said otherwise. You're confusing the hell out of me right now."_

_ "Why?"_

_ "Uh, let's see. I told you I kissed Britt this afternoon. You randomly throw a can of Mountain Dew in my face, which stung like hell by the way, and then you sprint all the way back here. Then when I try to talk to you, you scream at me, call me a dumbass, and kick me out. Then you call me in tears, tell me that _you need me_, or whatever, and then abruptly inform me of your indisputable heterosexuality. Where's the connective thread here? Because chica, yo no lo veo es. At all."_

_ "Joder."_

_ Santana blinked, "Did you just say 'fuck' in Spanish?"_

_ "Whatever," Quinn rolled in her friend's embrace to face the Latina, though she refused to actually meet Santana's gaze. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry I threw soda in your face and said those cruel things to you. I was wrong."_

_ "Damn right."_

_ "Forgive me?" Quinn's voice was a hushed, pleading tone._

_ Santana sighed. Realization had ignited in her mind, though she was unsure if she should push Quinn. In the end, the raging question in her head could not be quieted, "Why did you beg me to come back?"_

_ "Be-because," Quinn stammered nervously, "I had to apologize. I felt - _feel_ - horrible about how I behaved."_

_ "You could have apologized over the phone. You said you 'needed me' – why?" Santana paused to gauge her friend's reaction. Quinn averted her gaze immediately. "I'm not just going to let this go, Quinn. I know exactly what's going on."_

_ Quinn scoffed. "What do you think is going on?"_

_ "Girl, I _invented_ gay panic."_

_ "For the last time, I'm not-"_

_ "Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen, I know how you feel."_

_ Quinn pulled her arms up to her chest, pushing them outward so to put some distance between her and the dark-haired girl. "You cannot possibly know how I feel."_

_ "So you're not gay," Santana began, "Fine. Labels are for soup cans anyhow," This earned a chuckle from the paler girl. "But Quinn, you, my dear, _are not straight_. After today, I am convinced."_

_ Panic rippled in hazel eyes._

_ "It's okay," A tan hand began rubbing soothing circles in Quinn's back. "I've faced the same shit. You're handling it much more gracefully than I did."_

_ "Handling what? There's nothing to handle! Stop putting words in my mouth! Nothing goes in my mouth!"_

_ Santana couldn't hold back a laugh at her friend's amusing response. "Remember _The Muckraker_ newspaper?"_

_ "What does that have to do with anything?" Quinn's head was beginning to hammer painfully._

_ "Right before junior prom, I leaked a rumor that I fucked Karofsky in the back of my jeep. In the Holier Than Thou Cemetery, of all places."_

_ "You didn't," Quinn responded disbelievingly._

_ Santana nodded. "I didn't fuck him, of course. But I planted the lie."_

_ "You hit him with a folding chair; everybody knows that!" Quinn exclaimed. Santana nodded again, "Nobody would have believed a rumor like that!"_

_ "They definitely didn't once I came out at prom," Santana smiled inwardly, remembering the moment at the after-prom party just a few months ago when she proudly danced around in her "Lebanese" t-shirt._

_ "Why would you say something so stupid, though?" Quinn questioned, "Lying in the newspaper, I mean."_

_ "Same reason you keep slipping up in such Freudian fashion about 'not being gay'. I was scared. You're scared, but you don't have to be."_

_ "I'm not slipping up," Quinn's tone was utterly unconvincing._

_ "When I asked you why you tossed soda in my face and ran off, your response was 'I'm not gay'. You're splashing around on a Freudian slip-n-slide, my dear."_

_ Quinn groaned in anguish, turning once again to face away from the girl lying next to her. "Can we stop talking about this, please? It's awkward talking about gayness while you're holding me."_

_ "Then tell me to let you go," was Santana's matter-of-fact retort._

_ Quinn gingerly picked up her friend's hand between her index finger and thumb. "But I don't want you to," she mumbled._

_ "Gay," A pale elbow jabbed into Santana's side, causing her to cough. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! Bad joke."_

_ "I'm baptized, Santana. Don't you understand what that means?" Quinn almost whined. She drew tiny shapes on Santana's palm with her finger._

_ "I'm Catholic, remember? And Puerto Rican. Double whammy." The Latina pointed out with a playful push. She cleared her throat before speaking again, "Clear something up for me." Her tone became serious again._

_ "I've been straightforward with you all day, San. How could I possibly be any clearer?" _

_ Santana refrained from remarking on that falsehood. Slowly, she asked, "Is it that you are _not_ gay, or is it that you _cannot be_ gay? Or bisexual for that matter?"_

_ Quinn squeezed her eyes tightly shut. She had debated this countless times over in her own mind. "I don't want to answer that." She stopped tracing the palm in her hand._

_ "Fine," Gently, Santana pulled on Quinn's shoulder to prompt her to face her again. Her hand found its way to Quinn's lower back. She leaned to press her forehead against the girl next to her. "Answer me this: how do you feel about me? _**Just me**_. Forget all the labels."_

_ Quinn sighed in defeat as she bumped noses with her friend. "I am… confused about my feelings for you," she sucked in a shaky breath before continuing, "so… I'm going to have to pray about it."_

_ "Don't do that," Santana said quickly, "You don't have to pray about it, because there's _nothing wrong_ with you. I don't want you to change; I adore you just as you are."_

_ Had Quinn not emptied her tear ducts earlier, she'd probably be bawling right now. Instead, she pulled Santana as close to her as possible, weaving her arm around the shorter girl's side. "How are you so comfortable?" she asked quietly with her eyes closed._

_ "I guess 'cause I rub my skin with lotion every day."_

_ "No," Quinn corrected, lightly swatting a tan arm, "I mean with who you are."_

_ Santana smiled. "I wasn't comfortable. Not until a few months ago, when I started hanging around someone worth being brave for."_

_ Quinn's heart plummeted. "Oh I see…" She tried to force her face from contorting in disappointment, "Wait… I thought you and Brittany are childhood friends."_

_ "I'm not talking about Brittany, Q. I was a total closet-case when I was with her," Santana revealed. She lifted Quinn's chin with her finger to try to get the blonde to look at her, but Quinn refused, eyes still closed. Shoving frustration aside, Santana steeled herself before speaking again. Determination flooded her racing heart as she confessed, "I'm talking about _**you**_."_

_ The pale girl shuddered. "I… I can't respond to that."Quinn looked Santana in the eye for the first time since she arrived. Her friend wore the softest, most vulnerable expression she had ever seen on the tan girl's face. "I just can't talk about any of this anymore."_

_ Santana's finger skirted along Quinn's jaw line. "We don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to."_

_ Hazel eyes drifted to Santana's full lips. "If you kissed me right now, I think I'd shatter," Quinn admitted._

_ "Well, we can't have that," Santana cooed. Her wandering finger rested on Quinn's bottom lip. The Latina's touch still burned, but not in the painful manner it did hours earlier. Now, it was electrifying._

_ Exhaustion enveloping her, Quinn shifted onto her opposite side, pulling the hand on her lip down around her waist. Santana, however, immediately broke away, and for a brief moment, Quinn felt empty. Realization kicked in once she heard the familiar "click" of her bedroom door lock and the shuffling of her curtains. Once all visual pathways into the room were obstructed, Santana crawled back into bed to spoon Quinn from behind. Pale fingers interlocked with gentle, tan digits._

_ "Thank you," Quinn whispered, "for coming back. For talking to me. For everything." She nearly gasped when she felt a feather-soft kiss pressed to the base of her skull._

_ "You're welcome. Sweet dreams."_

* * *

><p><em> A persistent knocking on the door ripped both girls out of sleep. "Quinn?" Mrs. Fabray's voice came muffled through the door, "are you awake?"<em>

_ "_Shit!" _Quinn harshly whispered as she flung off the covers, jumped out of bed, and shoved Santana to the floor with a loud "thump." Santana was about to voice her extreme disapproval when Quinn's mother continued, 'Sweetie? What was that noise? Why is the door locked?"_

_ Relieved that her mother could not barge in, Quinn answered, "Oh, sorry, Mom, I didn't realize that it was locked. Santana is over," a few seconds later, she added, "she spent the night."_

_ "Oh, is that whose car is parked on the street? Your father was wondering that just now," Mrs. Fabray said uneasily._

_ "Good morning, Mrs. Fabray," Santana chirped, faking sincerity. Her dramatic eye roll made Quinn giggle quietly._

_ "Uh, y-yes, same to you," the woman replied, "well… there's pop tarts in the pantry if you girls are hungry," she added as an after-thought. Her footsteps could be heard as she scuffled away from the door._

_ Santana stood up, trademark smirk in place, though her actions did not reflect confidence as she hesitantly stepped close to Quinn. Her fingers slowly intertwined with the blonde's as she spoke softly. "Good morning, Quinn."_

_ "Good morning, Santana," Quinn returned. She brushed her thumbs over top of tan fingers. Both girls smiled warmly._

_ A thunderous banging on the door caused Quinn to hastily slap away Santana's hands. Terror replaced her tender expression immediately._

_ "Next time, you better ask before inviting people over!" Mr. Fabray screamed through the door. Santana was equally terrified, looking to Quinn for some sort of reassurance. She was shocked to see a brittle shell of the girl she knew._

_ Judy Fabray could be heard hissing, "Russell, her friend is _still in her room_ with her!" He scoffed loudly on the other side of the wall. The next time he spoke however, his voice level was noticeably lower, though it still dripped with disdain, "It would just be nice to know who is in my house."_

_ Santana waited until she was positive she heard him descend down the stairs before she released her breath. "Holy. Shit. What the hell was that?"_

_ Quinn shook her head sadly, trying to find a way to excuse her father's disturbing behavior. "They… went out last night. He must be hung over or something."_

_ Santana eyed the frightened girl warily. "People don't yell like that when they're hung over, Quinn. Is he always so _American Psycho_?"_

_ "Lower your voice!" Quinn admonished, her eyes shifting to the door. Satisfied no enraged parental figures were listening, she backtracked, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to hear that. It's embarrassing." She could feel her eyes tingle with tears. None of her friends had ever experienced that side of her father before._

_ "You're not the one who flipped shit at 9:30am, Quinn. You don't need to be sorry," Santana walked close to Quinn again and opened her arms; Quinn quickly stepped into the hug, returning it fiercely. _

_ "Q?"_

_ "Hmm?"_

_ "Is he… always like that?"_

_ Quinn noticeably tensed in Santana's arms. The Latina didn't need to hear Quinn's response; she had her answer. Reluctantly, Santana drew a sobering conclusion, "So… you don't really pray about your feelings because you're baptized, do you?"_

_ "Where did that come from?" Quinn mumbled into Santana's shoulder, feeling puzzled and annoyed by the Latina's statement._

_ "You're scared because of your parents, aren't you?" A tan hand began to rub circles into Quinn's back._

_ Quinn sighed as she tightened her embrace on Santana. "I forget how perceptive you are sometimes," she answered softly._

_ "What will they do?"_

_ "I don't know what they would do-"_

_ "No," Santana interjected, "what _will_ they do if they ever find something out?" She pulled her head away to read Quinn's expression._

_ Quinn's eyes shifted down to the floor. "I have yet to think that far, honestly. Most of my internal skirmishes end with me in tears. Not many future predictions get made."_

_ Santana nodded bitterly, stalking to the window. "If you need me to," she promised, gaze fixed on the clouds, "I can forget everything from the last twenty-four hours," The pace of her words quickened sharply as she continued, "It will hurt like fucking hell for sure. That's a huge understatement. But if me forgetting will help you, I'll do it. If it makes things easier-" Her train of thought was suddenly interrupted by Quinn wrapping her arms around Santana from behind._

_ "San," Quinn replied solemnly, "when has my life _ever_ truly been easy?" A few seconds later, she gently added, "Other than when I get to drive the Cadillac?"_

_ The dark-haired girl placed her hands over top of pale ones. She could barely hear her own breathy whisper as she asked, "do you care for me, Quinn? Because if this is all too much for you, stop me now. Please."_

_ Quinn dropped her chin to a tan shoulder. "I just need time San," She felt Santana nod against her._

_ "As much as you need," the Latina returned._

_ "And," Quinn admitted, her lips against Santana's ear, "I also need you."Quinn felt the other girl tremble slightly in her arms._

_ "I need you, too."_

* * *

><p><em> "Are we in limbo?"<em>

_ Santana glanced up from the ground at the blonde standing in front of her. "Uh, it's pronounced 'Lima', Quinn." Her back leaned against their favorite maple tree._

_ "No, no, no," Quinn explained, "I mean 'dating limbo'."_

_ An amused grin stretched across tan features. "You've lost me, babe."_

_ "See? That's what I'm talking about," Quinn said, wedging her foot between Santana's ankles to part them. Upon sitting with her back to Santana's stomach, the Latina promptly wrapped her arms around Quinn's torso. _

_ Half listening, Santana nuzzled her nose to Quinn's temple. "Still don't get it."_

_ Quinn sighed, equally distracted. "Okay, you know how when you're seeing someone, but you don't know if you're _really_ with them? As a couple?"_

_ Santana understood what the other girl was trying to say, but she was curious where this was going, so she feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?"_

_ "My stomach flutters every time you call me 'babe', even in texts," Quinn said, "but it still doesn't quite feel right."_

_ Slightly hurt, Santana loosed her embrace. "Does it make you uncomfortable when I call you that?"_

_ "No," Quinn rubbed her temples in frustration, "that's my point. I like it, but it feels odd, because I don't know what we are. School starts in two days; what am I gonna tell our friends?"_

_ Now Santana was thoroughly confused. "Wait, you want to tell people about us?"_

_ "I would if I knew whether we're in limbo or not!" Quinn huffed. "It's like we're standing on the edge of a canyon." She paused to see if Santana was following her._

_ "Okay… go on."_

_ "On the one side of the canyon is the 'friendship zone,'" She bent her fingers into quotations to signify her point, "On the other, across the gorge, is the 'dating zone.' The space in between is limbo, that period where we're more that friends but not official."_

_ "Interesting analogy. Very visual."_

_ "So what do I tell people, when they ask why you leer at me like you want to lick me like an ice cream cone?" This elicited a hearty laugh from the tan girl behind Quinn._

_ "Are you asking if we're on the 'dating' edge of the cliff?"_

_ "Yes! Haven't you been listening to me?" Quinn looked over her shoulder expectantly at the girl behind her, "Well?"_

_ "Well," Santana began as she tightened her hold on Quinn again, "considering I dragged you out of the closet a month and a half ago, I figured I'd let you decide what you wanted to do. I didn't want you to think I'm rushing you."_

_ Quinn smiled. "Four months ago, I'd probably have laughed if someone told me that Santana Lopez was capable of being considerate of others."_

_ "I'm full of surprises. Which you may have an unadulterated pass to… if you'll have me."_

_ Quinn quirked an eyebrow. "Do you often use the word 'unadulterated' when you flirt?"_

_ "Just around the hot girls," she replied with a wink._

_ Sighing, the blonde relaxed fully in Santana's arms. A light breeze sailed by, pushing a few curls of golden hair into her face. Immediately, a tan finger slyly inched up to tuck the hair back behind a pale ear. "I told you I needed you, honey," Quinn reminded the Latina softly._

_ "I remember," Santana answered, "That still leaves a lot to be resolved."_

_ "You're always going to be there," It was a statement of fact, not a question._

_ "Of course," Santana agreed confidently. "I still have questions though. But you said you need time; I am happy to give it. As I said, I left it up to you to make the call. The call about us."_

_ "I thought I did!" Quinn insisted._

_ "I guess that's why we're in limbo, then."_

_ An enticing idea sprouted in Quinn's mind. Feeling bold, she decided to share it with the girl behind her. "Well… I know how to get us out of limbo."_

_ "Oh yeah? How's that?" Santana asked playfully. The air caught in her throat, however, when Quinn twisted half way around to face her. There was a seductive glint in her eye that Santana never before had the pleasure of witnessing. Her voice sounded hoarse as she spoke, "How, babe?"_

_ "Maybe you should kiss me," Quinn suggested, her heart thumping wildly in her ribcage as if it was trying to escape to the Latina._

_ All of Santana's confidence disappeared with the next breeze. Gone was the smooth-talking, streetwise teenager. "A… real one? On the lips?" Despite their regular cuddling, they had yet to seal their attraction with a kiss. The light peck Santana placed on the back of Quinn's neck a month and a half ago so did not qualify, though she was reluctant to attempt anything more than that._

_ Quinn giggled. "Yes, San. On the lips." Her cheeks blushed pink. Quinn could hardly believe that this nervous girl was the same person who offered her "an unadulterated pass" just moments ago._

_ "Okay," Santana huffed, "just needed clarification-"_

_ "Baby-"_

_ "Wh- what?"All coherent thought drained from Santana as Quinn swung her knee and straddled her lap._

_ "I'm yours. Just kiss me," Quinn cupped Santana's face gently, staring into dazed brown eyes. Santana marveled at how delicately the other girl held her face, and how her hair shimmered in the sunlight. Her confidence renewed, she pressed her fingertips into Quinn's hips, pulling her close for a soft, chaste kiss. Quinn smiled into it immediately. Santana leaned back slightly to stare into hazel eyes. They seemed to glow with delight, though Santana's attention instantly shifted to Quinn licking her lips._

_ "Mmm," the blonde said, "you taste like caramel."_

_ "It's the chap stick," Santana croaked, surging forward to recapture Quinn's lips, much more passionately this time. Pale limbs wrapped around Santana's neck, while her own arms locked tightly around Quinn's back. In that moment, neither girl could think of a place they would rather be._


	7. You Know That I Want You

**Disclaimer: **I _still_ do not possess legal ownership of Glee. Too bad. I also do not own "Take Me or Leave Me" from _Rent_. Or _Disney _for that matter. I use the word in this chapter… going to mention it in the disclaimer to be safe.

**A/N: **So I'm taking a risk with this chapter, having Santana randomly break out into song. Please let me know what you all think of this particular scene. Also, **thank you to everyone who have left such glowing reviews of this fanfic**. Your kind words warm my heart, truly.

Mantra

Chapter 7: You Know That I Want You

Quinn truly did not give a damn what her parents were talking about with the new pastor at her church. Yes, she thought the word _damn_ on church grounds. Sue her. She was far too preoccupied with keeping the torture she felt off her face; she replaced it with a deliberate glare (which she pointedly shot at Santana across the parking lot.)

She refused to let the Latina know that deep down, she was relieved that her girlfriend was there, despite everything that transpired over the weekend. Both girls were notoriously callous and proud when angry. Santana was also unwaveringly loyal, and it made Quinn's heart swell with affection knowing that her girl was there to offer take her home. It just cemented in Quinn's mind that no matter what the circumstances, Santana would be there, would protect her at all costs.

Which is why the events at the party were so confusing, and so damn _heartbreaking_. The pale girl shuddered; images of her girlfriend kissing Brittany passionately flooded her mind.

"Quinn." Her father's casual tone sounded convincing to any reasonable person, but Quinn unfortunately knew better. She could not tune out the conversation anymore.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Pastor Daniel asked you a question."

She tore her gaze from Santana to look at the thin, blonde man before her. He could not be older than thirty-five, yet he emitted an air of confidence of an extremely accomplished man. Quinn despised him already. She plastered on a fake smile before speaking, "I'm sorry, Sir, I missed it." Her father's jaw clenched in irritation. The pastor, instead, just smiled warmly. His eyes were surprisingly kind. His seemingly gentle demeanor put Quinn on edge; she didn't believe his façade for a second.

"Please, call me Dan. And I was just curious if you were interested in joining the new youth group I'm starting."

"Of course she is!" Mrs. Fabray answered saccharinely for her. Her father stared her down, challenging her silently to argue. Quinn just shrugged lamely.

"I dunno, _Dan_," was her unenthusiastic response. She turned her head back to the parking lot, so she did not have to see her father's irate expression. Daniel followed her line of vision.

"Friends of yours?" He pointed to Santana and Mercedes, both standing with their arms crossed, leaning uneasily against their respective cars.

"Sure are," she replied sarcastically, "I actually have a project to work on with them, so Mom, Dad, I'm going to go."

"You'll leave when the pastor is done speaking to you," her father snapped.

Pastor Dan, perplexed by the awkward exchange, smiled again, uncomfortably this time. "No, it's all right, go along with your friends, Quinn. You should invite them to youth group, too. Meetings are Mondays at 7:30pm."

"Ok," Quinn said dismissively, not bothering to turn back as she briskly walked away, "bye." Her father probably would have been overflowing with rage if he could hear the string of expletives cycling through the blonde's head. She forced down the vulgar words as she sauntered up to Mercedes and Santana. "Thanks for waiting, Mercedes," she greeted, ignoring her girlfriend completely.

This did not go unnoticed by the Latina. "Uh, I know I'm in the shithouse right now," she remarked, scowling, "but you could at least say _hi_."

Quinn chuckled dryly. "Really, Santana, I think you'd much prefer me to say nothing, considering every phrase I have to say starts with 'fuck' and ends with 'you'." Mercedes winced, while Santana was dumbstruck, hurt etched all over her face.

"Baby, please, I-"

"No," Quinn held up her hand, "not right now. Not _here_." Her eyes shifted warily to see if her parents were within earshot. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see them still chatting with the new pastor.

"I'm just sorry, Quinn. So fucking sorry," Santana pleaded, "Just let me explain-"

"You need to stop talking and listen!" Quinn hissed, her head bitch in charge persona in full throttle, "you don't want to talk to me right now. Not while I'm still so angry. I'll say something out of spite and then we'll _both_ have done something regretful." A glistening tear threatened to spill down Santana's cheek. Upon seeing this, the sharpness in the blonde's voice dulled considerable as she continued, "If you want to talk, save it for Monday. We can go see Ms. Pillsbury together after Glee Club."

"Yeah," Santana agreed immediately, "Whatever you want. Thank you babe-"

"Mercedes," Quinn interrupted, faking annoyance, "can we go?"

Conflicted, Mercedes silently nodded her head and got in her car. Quinn did not break her gaze with Santana until she got in the passenger seat. Haunted, the Latina watched dejectedly as her beloved drove off without her. Her anguish did not go unnoticed by Quinn's parents as they approached their own car.

* * *

><p>"You okay, girl?" Mercedes asked, her voice full of concern.<p>

Quinn shivered, releasing a hefty breath, trying to exhale the tension out of her system. "That _really_ sucked."

"That was awkward as hell. Worse than when Tina and I walked in on you two making out in the choir room closet."

Quinn laughed mirthlessly at the memory. "She'll be lucky if she ever gets to do something like that again," she remarked sourly.

Mercedes grimaced, switching between watching the road and eyeing Quinn. "She…" the darker-haired girl paused.

"She what?" Quinn croaked.

Mercedes sighed. "I know it's not my place, but she and I talked. She's really sorry, Quinn."

"She has a lot to be sorry for," Quinn asserted bitterly.

"Look," Mercedes explained, "I won't say much about this, because it's between you two to work everything out. But I'm just so glad you're going to give her a chance on Monday."

"Why's that?" Quinn asked flatly, staring out the window.

"Because she loves you," Mercedes held her friend's hand as she spoke, "More than I think anyone else our age is capable. You two are effing incredible together."

Quinn sniffled. "Everything's just gone to crap, lately," she began to shake violently, overcome with grief. "Everything's falling apart!"

Mercedes hastily pulled over, turning the car off, so she could pull Quinn into her arms as her friend began to sob.

* * *

><p>Gone were the days where students parted like the red sea in the hallway for Quinn. Now, in her senior year, she appreciated the lack of attention people paid her. Rachel would call her "reformed." That wasn't exactly the reason for Quinn's wish to be inconspicuous.<p>

Her need to be on top socially was replaced with a desire to blend in once everyone found out she was capital 'L' lesbian for Santana. She wasn't ashamed, far from it. The school day was just infinitely more pleasant when she made it to calculus without being called a dyke.

Quinn often wished to possess the power to disappear. When her father berated her, or worse. When her mother stumbled around the house in a drunken haze. And now, when Jacob Ben Israel shoved a tape recorder in her face and began to accost her.

"So, are the rumors true?" the unsavory boy asked facetiously. Quinn grimaced; his breath reeked from bits of onion bagel stuck in his teeth.

"I haven't the slightest idea what trumped up rumor you're referring to _this _time, Israel," she replied dismissively, promptly followed by an irritated eye roll.

"Inside sources say you and a certain other lady-loving Glee starlet were seen having quite the heated lover's quarrel in front of Noah Puckerman's house; care to comment?"

"I don't have time for this," Quinn snapped, trying to push passed the deleterious reporter without actually have to make any sort of bodily contact with him.

Realizing his cover story was storming away, he called out, "did your fight have anything to do with your raven-haired beauty locking lips with the captain of the Cheerios, Brittany Pierce?"

Quinn froze mid-stride, crimson creeping into her vision as her pulse quickened rapidly. Trademark sneer in place, she stomped back to Jacob, ripping his tape recorder out of his hands.

"He that's my-" he whined.

"Shut it, Curly!" she hissed, tossing the device over her shoulder. The chunky "crack" it made as it broke on the floor made the boy wince. "Where did you hear that?" She knew she and Santana possibly could have been seen arguing outside Puck's house, but she figured people were too drunk to recall about or why they were fighting. The fact that Jacob Ben Israel knew what happened? Great, now her private life was public knowledge, open to be ridiculed by the entire student body. Just what she needs.

He smirked smugly in triumph. 'Touched a nerve, Quinn? Worried what people will say when they find out your girlfriend is looking to _other_ blondes to satisfy her? Afraid that you're losing your _touch_?"

Quinn had never committed assault before; her conservative upbringing, coupled with the stories Santana had told her of jail were enough to make her refrain from such an offense. Though at the moment, cold-cocking Jacob until he was permanently disfigured seemed mighty tempting. She straightened her back, trying to appear as cool and composed as possible. "I believe I asked you a question. Now, either tell me who told you that Santana was kissing Brittany, or I'll tear the red, pubic-like hair right out of your pasty skull!"

The fearful boy gulped loudly. "It's no secret, Quinn. Multiple people at the party saw a flirtatious Santana go to the bathroom and Brittany slink after her. It couldn't be more obvious what they were up to." (His sources were limited only to his drunk-beyond-all-recognition self, but Quinn did not need to know that.)

The blonde could feel the metaphorical smoke billow out of her nostrils. Her teeth grinded together with a "squeak" as her she clenched her jaw in rage. "Is that so?" she spat.

"How long has this been going on, Quinn? How long has Santana been sneaking around behind your back?"

"Screw you, Israel!" she shrieked as she started running towards the choir room.

Attempting to land one last sucker punch, Israel yelled at the retreating girl, "you know what people think, Quinn? They've seen this coming for months!"

Quinn nearly tripped as she gripped a door handle protruding into the hallway. "_What_ did you say?" Her face was steadily falling like a melted ice cream cone.

Jacob's arrogant grin was back in place. "Who are you to stand in the way of those two? Everyone knows they're _soulmates_. Just this morning, I polled fifty random students, and they all agree that Brittany much more compatible-" He did not have the chance to see how his low blow affected Quinn. She was sprinting the last few yards to the choir room, wearing an expression that could only be described as feral. She burst through the heavy doors, furious eyes scanning the students seated in front of her. The brooding Latina was slumped in her chair in the back row. Even though her earphones were wedged firmly in her ears, Quinn's dramatic entrance certainly did not go unnoticed. She snapped her vision upward to meet her girlfriend's searing hazel gaze.

"You!" Quinn screeched, pointing at the flustered girl, "Yes, Weave! I'm talking to you! Get _over _here!"

Rachel, sensing an impending massacre, tried to step in. "Quinn, before you result to violence-"

"No, Rach!" Quinn held up her hand, "Not talking to you." The icy glare that the blonde directed at Rachel was enough to make the tiny brunette quiver.

Warily, Santana pulled out her ear phones and crossed the room to stand toe-to-toe with Quinn. "And you're fuming and screaming because…? I thought we were gonna talk to Ginger later-"

"You can forget about our session with Ms. Pillsbury! I've had enough of your _bullshit_!" The blonde crossed her arms, daring Santana to challenge her.

Santana blinked, thoroughly confused. "Have you gone _batshit insane_, babe? What the fuck do you think I've done _now_?"

"It doesn't matter! To think that I was actually going to hear you out! Definitely not going to do that now!"

Brittany leaned to whisper in Tina's ear, though she could clearly be heard. "Is Quinn going through early menopause or something?"

"Oh, just wait 'til I get my hands on you, Pierce!" Quinn launched forward, disdain dripping from her voice. "Don't think you can get away with kissing my girlfriend and still have your arms attached!"

Santana hastily snagged Quinn around the middle and dragged her into the hall before she could strangle her former best friend. She swiftly backed Quinn into the lockers, wrapping her hand around the back of the blonde's head to prevent her from feeling any pain as she hit the wall. She promptly placed her hands on either side of Quinn's neck, pinning her. "Okay, Amiga. We're talking about this _right now_. I am sick of you flying off the handle for no reason."

"What are you doing with me, Santana?" Quinn snapped, eyes brimming with tears. "Are you just biding your time with me, waiting for the right moment to get back with her?" Shocked, Santana was speechless. Her girlfriend took this as a sign to continue her rant. "I'm a fool, aren't I? You've been stringing me along this whole damn time!"

"Stop right there," Santana snarled, "I am fucking _offended_, pissed beyond _all recognition_, that you would ever question my feelings for you! I fucking _love you_, Quinn!"

"Last Friday makes me think otherwise!" Quinn shot back, tears falling freely from her face.

The dark-haired girl shook her head in disbelief. The other Glee kids hovered in her peripheral vision, poking their heads timidly out the choir room doorway. Lauren turned to Puck and snipped, "too bad we don't have any popcorn for this…"

Santana ignored them as she tried to explain, "Brittany followed me into the bathroom-"

"So I heard." Quinn interrupted flatly.

"-I thought she was _you_. I thought you woke up and went looking for me. When I realized it was her, I panicked, froze up!"

"_Sure_ you did, Santana." Quinn, though she wanted to believe, was still not convinced.

The Latina's heart was bruised purple watching her girlfriend cry. She brought up a finger to wipe away Quinn's tears, though the other girl struggled against her. "Why don't you believe me, Quinn?" she whispered.

"Nobody else does, so why should I?" The distraught blonde threw up her hands in frustration.

"The hell does _that_ mean?" Santana leaned forward, eyes boring into the girl in front of her. "Britt and I have barely talked in six months because _you and I_," Santana gestured between her and Quinn, "_are together_." Several feet away, Brittany's face slipped into a familiar, pained frown. Not one person noticed as she tiptoed away from the drama through the back door of the choir room.

"People _saw_ you, Santana," Quinn's breath came out in ragged pants. "They said 'it couldn't be more obvious what you were up to'!"

Santana frowned, her face a mix of confusion and irritation. "Who saw me doing what? Going to the bathroom? What, did I do the potty dance or something?" Her sarcastic remark earned multiple snickers from her fellow Glee members behind her.

Quinn, however, was not amused. At. All. "Don't do that! Don't make light of these accusations!" Her face deepened to an almost unnatural shade of red.

Santana's demeanor abruptly shifted from fiercely angry to utterly amused by her girlfriend's face. Quinn looked like an overripe tomato. "And who exactly made these… accusations? Plastered Puck?"

"Hey!" Puck shouted, offended by his friend's lack of faith in him. Lauren elbowed hit in the gut for interjecting.

"It doesn't matter where I heard it-" Quinn sputtered.

"Precisely. _Heard_. Not witnessed!" Santana contended, "Whoever told you this is full of hippo feces. Now, who fed you this shit?"

Quinn huffed, defeat rapidly sinking in. She covered her face, ashamed to divulge the name of the curly-haired journalist. How could she have been so stupid – simply accepting his distorted account of the party? Embarrassed, her muffled response was, "_Jay Cobb Bin Iz Real_."

Santana arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Okay," she began with an incredulous expression, "you're gonna have to repeat that. 'Cause I _know_ I did not hear what I think I just heard."

Quinn swallowed hard. She glanced over at her eavesdropping friends just a few feet away. Mercedes and Rachel stood in front, arms spread out to their sides in an effort to restrain the rest of the group from crowding around the bickering girls to hear Quinn's response.

"Quinn Elizabeth Fabray." Santana's stern tone prompted her to regretfully redirect her vision to the Latina. "Let me get this straight. You believe _Jacob Fuckface Israel_ over me? He tells you shit and you automatically accept it? But when I try to explain myself, you just shut me out?"

The pale girl was suddenly speechless.

"I love you, babe. Really fucking love you," Santana said emphatically, "But if you really take that asshole's word over mine, you might as well _dump_ me."

Quinn's eyes widened in horror at this statement.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Santana asked, "You basically alluded to breaking up with me the moment you called me a cheater."

Quinn yanked on her blonde roots, totally exhausted. "I'm not- I don't know-"

"You don't know what?" Santana spat, "You don't know if you were actually gonna go _through_ with it, or were you just guilt tripping me?"

"Look!" Quinn snapped, trying to defend herself, "if you saw what I saw the other night, you'd react the exact same way!"

"That's where you're totally _wrong_," Santana retorted, her voice eerily calm all of a sudden, "Yes, I would be furious at first. But I'd let you explain yourself, and I'd _believe_ you." She let her argument sink in before continuing. Gently cupping Quinn's tear-stained cheek, she pointed out, "you and I both know I wouldn't be standing here, like a damn fool in front of our friends, trying to reason with you, if I weren't telling you the absolute _truth_."

Quinn dropped her gaze to the floor. Silently, she berated herself. _Stupid, stupid, girl_. Santana really _was_ telling the truth. Brittany came on to her, completely drunk. And Israel flanked her for a twisted story. It all started to make sense. Perfect, logical sense. Quinn mentally slapped herself for ever doubting the Latina, the most loyal person she had ever met. Fresh tears rolled down her flushed cheeks.

"You're just being ridiculous now."

Santana's cynical tone reignited the angry embers in Quinn's chest. "How am _I _being ridiculous? I have every right to be _livid_ when your ex backs you up against the sink!"

"I fucking _told_ you-"

"Yeah, I heard you! She came on to you, whatever! It's not just that!" Quinn spat, completely exasperated, as she began spilling her suppressed insecurities, "Every lesbian, bisexual, and curious girl in three freaking counties looks you up and down!" Santana could not hold back her smirk. Quinn scowled in return. "Do you have any idea what that _feels_ like?"

"How is any of that my fault? It's not like I encourage it!" Santana argued.

"That doesn't make it hurt any less! How am I supposed to feel when every stripper, floozy, and kinky girl in _rubber_ tries to get in your pants?"

"_There will always be girls in rubber flirting with me_!" Santana paused, mouth hanging slightly ajar. The familiar phrase from her _Rent_ soundtrack repeated over and over in her head. Quinn quirked an eyebrow, clearly not catching the reference. Grinning, Santana took a page straight out of _Disney_ and randomly broke into song:

_Every single day,  
>I walk down the street<br>I hear people say: "Baby's so sweet!"_

Quinn shook her head in disbelief, "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Oh dear Gaga!" Kurt exclaimed, "She is _not_-"

"She _is_!" Mercedes interjected, burying her face in her hands.

Santana continued on:

_Ever since puberty  
>Everybody stares at me,<br>Boys, girls I can't help it, baby.  
>So be kind, and don't lose your mind<br>Just remember, that I'm your baby_

Quinn ducked under Santana's arm and dashed down the hall, half laughing hysterically, half sobbing. Santana kept pace with her easily. The Glee kids followed eagerly behind the pair.

_Take me for what I am!  
>Who I was meant to be!<br>And if you give a damn,  
>Take me baby, or leave me!<em>

Quinn spun around to stand face-to-face with the serenading Latina. "I swear if you sing one more word-"

_You are the one I choose,  
>Folks would kill to fill your shoes!<br>You love the limelight too now, baby!  
>So be mine, and don't waste my time<br>Cryin', "Oh honey bear are you still my, my, my baby?"_

"Stop it, Santana!" Quinn huffed, grabbing the Latina by her shirt collar. Santana, in turn, dropped to her knees, taking both of Quinn's hands in hers.

_No way, can I be what I'm not!  
>But hey, don't you want your girl hot?<br>Don't fight, don't loose your head,  
>'Cause every night who's in your bed?<br>Who? Who's in your bed?_

The breath Quinn was holding hitched in her throat, her cheeks turning a rosy shade of red at the suggestive phrase.

Santana smirked, puckering her lips. "Kiss, Cariña?"

_Oh to hell with this!_ Quinn thought silently. Letting go, she joined her girlfriend in song:  
><em>What's my sin?<br>I never quit.  
>I follow through.<br>I hate mess but I love you.  
>What to do with my impromptu baby?<em>

She pulled Santana up to meet her gaze, gently grabbing the shorter girl's chin. Leaning mere inches from Santana's face, she sang the next three lines with confidence._  
>So be wise, 'cause this girl satisfies,<br>You got a prize, so don't compromise  
>You're one lucky baby!<em>

She wrenched her other hand out of Santana's grasp and ran out a nearby door into the parking lot. Santana hastily followed, a broad smile across her flushed face. The rest of Glee Club burst through the double doors after her.

Quinn leaned against the railing of the stairs leading to students' cars. "Take me for what I am!" she shouted, extending her arms far above her head.

Santana dropped to the same step and returned, "a control freak!"

"Who I was meant to be!"

"A snob," Santana mocked, "yet over attentive."

Quinn laughed dryly. "And if you give a damn!"

"Oh, and anal attentive!" Santana added.

"Take me for what I am!" Quinn exclaimed as she marched down the steps.

"Women!" Santana called back sarcastically to the Glee kids as she too descended down the stairs, "Can't live with them, can't live without them!"

Mike stepped between Rachel and Mercedes. "No offense, girls," he began hesitantly, "but this song makes _way_ more sense when two lesbians sing it."

"Oh shut it, Mike!" Mercedes groaned, turning back to the dueling divas still shouting at one another.

"You better take me, baby!" Quinn warned, "Or I'm leaving!"

"And if you give a damn," Santana countered, "you better take me baby!"

"Oh, take me, baby!"

"Take me, take me!"

_Or leave me _both girls sang in unison.

Quinn huffed. "Guess I'm leaving!"

Santana sneered as she kicked over a trashcan. "I'm gone!" She then stomped off to her jeep, forcefully slamming her car door. Quinn stalked off to Mercedes' civic, slumping into the passenger seat.

"I don't know what she's doing," Mercedes pointed out, "because I'm staying for the rest of rehearsal."

"I think rehearsal is canceled for today," Rachel concluded sadly. "Hey," she glanced between the other members of Glee Club, "where did Brittany go?"

The tall blonde was still inside William McKinley High School, timidly entering Emma Pillsbury's office. "Um… Ms. Pillsbury?"

The gentle, redheaded woman looked up from paperwork on her desk. "Brittany!" she greeted warmly, "what can I do for you?"

Brittany shifted uneasily from side to side. "I think you need to come out to the parking lot."


	8. And You Know That I Need You

**Long A/N:** Sorry that this update has taken so long! This chapter by far has been the most difficult to write. Hope it is worth the wait.

A couple of you asked about the definition of an **auxiliary officer**. Most auxiliary officers are high school students. The position allows young people to get law enforcement experience before they go to college. They do not carry firearms, and they are not sworn peace officers. They're assistants most of the time, helping the full-time officers with duties like security at school sporting events or directing traffic.

**In the last chapter**, Brittany is the one who got Ms. Pillsbury to intervene in the Quinntana fight. Britt's not in this chapter, but she will be back, I promise.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Glee, Santana, Brittany, Rachel, and Quinn would all be lesbians. Clearly, not all of them are, so you can infer that I have no legal rights to Glee. _Damn_.

* * *

><p>Mantra<p>

Chapter 8: And You Know That I Need You

"_You're starting to scare me, Q."Santana's words finally registered in Quinn's ears._

"_Hmm?"_

_The Latina sighed. "I said, you've been staring at that same math problem for ten minutes, and you haven't bitched once. Where are you, today?"_

_Quinn dropped her pencil and looked at her girlfriend perched on the counter. Instead of answering the question, she pointed out, "you know, some people eat off of that counter. People like me."_

_Santana, frustrated by the lack of response she desired, wiggled her bottom defiantly on the granite surface._

"_Classy," Quinn remarked sarcastically._

"_Damn straight."_

_Shaking her head, the blonde returned her attention to the radians conversion in front of her. Santana immediately noticed how hazel eyes glazed over into an unreadable expression."Baby?" She pushed herself off the counter and sat in the chair next to Quinn._

_Quinn took her hand, smiling at the warmth that spread through her body. "I've just been thinking."_

"_Congratulations." This sarcastic remark earned the tan girl a shove. "Hey!"_

"_I'm serious!" Quinn insisted. Her broad smile mesmerized Santana._

"_Care to share with the class?"_

_Quinn's smile shrank, inflicting a needle-like twinge in Santana's heart. "I-I want to. Really. I think you'll understand. At least, I hope so."_

"_Okay, then tell me, babe," Santana tried to mask her concern._

_Losing her confidence, Quinn posed a question Santana did not expect. "Did you ever like sex with guys?"_

_A perfectly manicured eyebrow shot up in surprise."This conversation is not going where I expected it to at all."_

"_Please," Quinn pleaded, surprising Santana with her desperation, "…did you?"_

_The dark-haired girl contemplated this for a moment. "It was… okay. If the guy was really good, I'd come. Most of the time though, I just wished it would hurry up and be over."_

"_Yeah?" Quinn studied Santana, absorbing her words like a sponge._

"_Totally," she continued, feeling oddly comforted as she rambled, "I mean, it started out as just something to do. Something I thought I had to do. Then… I just wanted to make Britt jealous."_

"_Oh. I see." Quinn said bitterly._

"_Yeah," Santana admitted reluctantly, "and truthfully, I also wanted to be better than you."_

_This caught Quinn completely off-guard. "Um. What?"_

_Santana sighed deeply. "You were head cheerleader. Every guy's wet dream." Both girls cringed at this sentence. "Just by being _you_, you had the world at your feet. I wanted that so badly. I figured, if I slept around enough, if I got enough attention from the guys, then I'd become number one eventually. Sex was the only thing I could give that you never would."_

"_I…" Quinn paused, "I don't like how that statement makes me feel." Hollowness, disgust, and nausea spun around in her gut like a carousal._

"_I don't either," Santana agreed, disgusted as well, "My logic was so fucked up back then. Truthfully, I think I was so screwed up because I was afraid of being a lesbian. I think, deep down, I hoped that one of the guys would literally fuck me straight. How stupid is that?"_

"_Right," Quinn whispered, "Stupid."_

_Santana tried to catch her girlfriend's gaze. "I hate it when you do this."_

"_Do what?" Quinn asked incredulously._

"_You tell me something's up, and when I try to get you to open up about it, you somehow manipulate me into talking instead, switching subjects completely. That way, you don't actually have to talk to me about what's bothering you."_

_Quinn guffawed. "I'm not that manipulative!" This earned her a "bitch please" expression. "Am I?"_

"_You've had your moments," Santana informed her, "Let's chalk it up to habit. Sue Sylvester fucked us up."_

_Quinn thought hard about what Santana was telling her. Being guarded, she realized, was her default in life. Her parents had burned her so many times; this caused the manipulative dance Santana described to become her routine. She would try to talk about her feelings to her mother or her father, but as soon as the heavy emotions began to surface, she would drown them, protecting her from disappointment and therefore skirting away from the issue at hand._

_It was time, she decided, to end that dance once and for all. _

"_Well, I didn't like it with Puck." She meet Santana's eyes as she spoke, hoping her girlfriend would pick up on the true meaning behind her words._

"_Well of course you didn't," the Latina spat, white-hot anger flashing through her, "he got you drunk on wine coolers. For your sake, I hope you don't remember any of that jackhammer fest."_

"_That's not what I meant-"_

"_Hey," Santana rubbed Quinn's back, not realizing that she had interrupted, "I unfortunately slept with him, too. He wasn't the greatest. In fact, he's all talk. You didn't miss out on much."_

"_-I wouldn't have slept with Finn or Sam either, if given the chance." The hand on her back stilled._

"_Because of Celibacy Club?"_

"_No." Inhaling deeply, Quinn could feel her pulse begin to quicken. Anxiety escalated in her gut like a roller coaster. Upon reaching the crest of the hill, the truth sprang forth from her lips- "I'm pretty sure I'm __**gay**__, San." And there it was. The phrase tumbled out in haphazard fashion, but there was no mistaking what she said._

_Mocha eyes blinked back at her, brimming with surprise."You think you're a lesbian, too?"_

"_I know I am," Quinn answered with much more confidence._

_Santana smiled. "Wow."_

_Quinn bit her lip nervously. There was silence between them._

"_Yeah," Quinn agreed awkwardly, "Gay, gay, gay, gay, gay."_

"_I love you__."_

_It was Quinn's turned to be struck silent. "What did you say?" she whispered._

"_I said," Santana repeated, much louder, "I love you. You're gay - great. You're bi – brilliant. Pansexual - perfect-"_

"_Whoa-" Quinn cut in, "I'm sorry, but pan…what?" Her knowledge of sexuality was not nearly as extensive as the Latina's._

"_Love the heart, not the anatomy," Santana hastily explained, "Point is, you're _**my**_ Quinn, and I'm proud of you for being honest with yourself. I love everything about you." She blushed, causing her cheeks to turn crimson._

_Quinn's heart hammered excitedly in her chest, though Santana did not immediately pick up on her elation. Silence felt like rejection._

"_So, yeah," Santana snapped, beginning to close herself off, "Just seemed like a good time to let you know." _

_Giggling, Quinn crawled into Santana's lap, looping her arms around her neck. Leaning close enough that Santana could feel breath on her ear, she whispered, "I love you back."_

_It was the first time the couple ever kissed in Quinn's house._

* * *

><p>"This is such bullshit."<p>

"Santana," Emma Pillsbury rebuked in a shaky tone, "remember, foul language is not constructive."

Glancing to her side, the Latina caught Quinn rolling her eyes disapprovingly. Scoffing, she replied, "Fine. This is such alpaca feces," Both Ms. Pillsbury and Quinn grimaced in disgust. "Yeah," Santana snapped, "doesn't roll off the tongue nearly as well, does it?"

"You are unbelievable," Quinn whispered.

"What's that, darling?" the dark-haired girl snarled, leaning in with her hand to her ear, "I missed that condescending statement - care to repeat?"

"Okay, both of you stop!" the counselor interjected before the angry retort boiling in Quinn's trachea could be said. "Let's calm down, and when you two are ready, let's talk about what's bothering you."

"Unless you got some of The Pink Dagger's weed," Santana answered sarcastically, "this conversation ain't gonna be sunshine and rainbows."

"Pretty sure Sandy Ryerson isn't allowed on school grounds, _officer_," Quinn snipped, chuckling dryly to herself.

"Girls," Emma tried again, "we're here to talk about why I had to bribe you both of out your cars with bacon-flavored Pringles and dark chocolate bars." Both girls stared at their respective snacks, Quinn, with her over-salted chips, and Santana, with her half-melted candy. "Now, no more deflection," the red-headed woman tried to sound assertive, but failed. "What exactly is going on?"

Quinn looked expectantly at her girlfriend. When the Latina stayed silent, her irritation level skyrocketed. "Fine," she began in a clipped tone, "I caught Santana making out with Brittany-"

"_Bullshit_ you did!" Santana exclaimed, eyes aflame with rage.

"Santana-" Ms. Pillsbury wasn't sure whether to scold or try to pacify the girl, "remember, language-"

"I didn't _fucking_ make out with Britt!" Santana interrupted, completely ignoring the counselor's words. Turning towards Quinn, she continued, "I told you in the hallway what happened!"

"Yes," Quinn agreed coolly, "you did. I admit I initially misinterpreted what I saw- "

"Understatement of the goddamn semester-"

"-But I'm still hurt, and I still want to discuss my feelings without you screeching about farm animal defecation. Is that too much to ask?" Quinn requested.

Hazel and brown orbs locked in a staring contest. Santana's eyes quivered slightly before closing and relenting, "fine. What do you want me to say that I haven't already?"

"How about 'I'm sorry'?" Quinn suggested sarcastically.

"You know that I am," Santana replied quietly, opting for honesty rather than snark.

"I think hearing the phrase out loud would mean a lot to Quinn," Ms. Pillsbury said. "Assuming she knows how you feel is just one more block in your communication-"

"You want me to apologize?" Santana cut in, "Fine! I own that I did not handle this weekend as well as I could have, even though most of the events were out of my control. In the future, I'll do my best to learn from this. I'm sorry I let you down, Q." Her voice was sincere, but she was not finished. Shifting in her seat, she addressed Ms. Pillsbury, "But you don't understand, Ms. P.," she huffed in frustration, "this is not the first time Quinn has felt threatened by Brittany." Quinn stiffened visibly, while Santana continued, "And just like last time, I assured her that I didn't do anything to encourage Brittany. She knows it's not my fault. She knows I'm sorry it happened."

Emma's brow furrowed, deep in thought. "What happened before?"

Santana ran her fingers nervously through her raven hair. "It's not important-"

"I think it is," Emma hesitantly contended, "Perhaps Quinn is justified in her feelings-"

"Of course I'm justified!" Quinn spat, "The 'last time'," Quinn bent her fingers into quotes, "Brittany sent _my_ girlfriend photos of her in her freaking _underwear!_"

"She was in a bikini! _Not_ underwear!" Santana insisted, trying desperately not to cackle at the counselor's eyes widening impossibly larger than their natural, saucer-like state.

"A Victoria's Secret bikini," Quinn muttered, "is basically the same thing. And she was bent over, facing the mirror, practically shoving her chest at the camera." Quinn stared pointedly at Santana, who continued to scratch her scalp nervously.

"Britt's always had a difficult time understanding the concept of boundaries…"

"Boundaries?" Quinn half laughed, half shrieked, "_Boundaries?_ What do boundaries have to do with it? She sent you a practically naked photo of herself-"

"She didn't know better-"

"-Really, Santana?" Quinn argued, "Who wears a bikini in freaking snowy November? In _Ohio_?" The silent challenge in Quinn's eyes was almost intimidating to Santana.

Almost.

"It doesn't matter if she was in a bikini, or if she sent me a photo of her naked asshole!" Santana exclaimed, making the other two women cringe at her vulgar description, "The point is that I didn't ask for it! I would have deleted the photo immediately, had I not have been driving at the time. You," Santana pointed out accusingly, "are the one who insists on reading my texts for me while I'm driving. Not my fault you found the photo first!"

"Well, actually, that is a rather safe practice, not texting while driving-" Ms. Pillsbury rambled.

"Yeah, give me a gold medal, whatever!" Santana snapped, "Look, Ms. P., Quinn and I have talked about this before. I've told Britt that it's not okay to send me pictures like that. Actually, I've stopped talking to her completely. I'm willing to ignore my _best friend_ of over _ten years_ to reduce the strain on my relationship," Santana turned her head to look directly at Quinn as she said this last sentence, "But no matter what I do, Quinn doesn't trust me. This isn't about whether I did or didn't do something bad. It always comes down to Quinn not trusting me." Visibly pained, Quinn met her girlfriend's critical gaze. "Which doesn't make any sense," Santana pressed on, "considering Quinn tells me that I'm the most dependable, loyal person she's ever met."

"_You are,"_ Quinn thought silently, now staring at the floor. Deep in the pit of her gut, realization tied itself around her organs in an achy, painful knot.

"Quinn?" Emma tried to catch the blonde's attention, "what do you think about what Santana just said?" Her quiet, coddling tone made Santana roll her eyes.

Quinn exhaled, pressing her palm to her forehead. "I think," she began slowly, "when you word it that way, San, I look like a total witch. That's never who I meant to be." She looked directly at her girlfriend, "For that, I am sorry."

"I just don't get it, Santana admitted, "How many times do I have to say something before you actually believe me? Will you _ever_ believe me?"

"Of course I-"

"No," Santana cut her off, though there was no bite in her tone, "Don't tell me 'I _do_ believe you' or 'I _will_ believe you', because your actions say otherwise. Which is ridiculous, considering **you**, _not_ Brittany, or any other girl, are the woman I've been making love to for the past six months-"

"Whoa, okay ladies!" Ms. Pillsbury jumped in, clearing her throat, obviously uncomfortable, "while I'm glad you have a dialogue going, remember, what is my golden rule?"

Both girls sighed before repeating monotonously, "keeping it clean, keeping it PG, keeps Ms. P. very happy."

The red-headed woman smiled brightly. "Yes, thank you. Now, where were we before we took a little detour?"

Quinn's whole body ached from anxious tension. Santana, bless her, always managed to pierce through the hardened shell Quinn protectively wore. She thought back to that lazy afternoon, where her girlfriend revealed Quinn's guarded nature and ended up professing her love. Now, the Latina had unknowingly unearthed another habit of the blonde's: No matter how much Santana loved her, no matter how much Quinn loved her back, Quinn _always_ subconsciously doubted her.

How could she not, when her parents, the two people in her life she is supposed to trust and love the most, are two of the most unreliable, hurtful cretins within a hundred-mile radius. Her father only promised to reign in his temper when the neighbors became suspicious of a beautiful teenage girl wearing long-sleeves in summer. The concealed bruises on her arms showed the true colors of a tyrannical father, who would never, no matter how much he tried to make up for it, be a _dad_.

Her mother never lived up to the rhetoric she spouted after one of Russell's tirades. "A mother's most important duty is protecting her daughter." This concept, Quinn decided long ago, could only be practiced by a sober Judy Fabray - a woman who existed only in the fantasies of Quinn's mind.

All of this emotional baggage, while relevant, could never be admitted in a session with Ms. Pillsbury. Quinn was sure the red-head's eyes would pop out and spontaneously combust if she found out about Quinn's dysfunctional (fucked up) family.

Santana herself would probably never learn about the extent of Quinn's psychological scarring. It would only "prove" to the Latina that Quinn _was_ indeed incapable of ever completely trusting her. Quinn decided, that to prevent that, she'll be spending most of her life in private counseling to deal with her haunted past. She has to get better. She has to _heal_.

Because she has to have Santana in her life. End of discussion.

But first, she has deal with the "here and now bullshit," as her girlfriend would say. Santana, unaware of Quinn's sudden internal discovery, was staring at her impatiently. Any longer and her face would mold into a glare. If Quinn was going to keep Santana around, she had some apologizing to do. She rubbed her temples to outwardly express her shame. "I'm such a hypocrite."

"Probably," Santana deadpanned, earning a stern look from Emma, "to what are you referring to, Q?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the blonde answered, "I freak out if Brittany's in the same airspace as you, while I'm the one who's cheated multiple times, just like you said earlier."

Guilt cemented itself onto Santana's face. "I…" she paused, "I said that out of anger, babe."

"What exactly did you say, Santana?" Emma asked out of curiosity, as well as concern, seeing how pained both girls appeared.

Quinn responded instead, "she called me out on Friday, pointing out how pathetic it was of me to accuse her of messing around with Brittany, when _I'm_ the one who cheated on Finn with Puck. And then on Sam with Finn. If anything, she's the one who should be wary of _me_ straying." Her eyes misted with tears, remembering her awful past behavior. She gasped, almost inaudibly, as Santana quickly laced their fingers together, rubbing her thumb soothingly over the top of Quinn's hand.

"I'm no better," Santana whispered, "It wasn't fair of me to say that. I've done worse."

Ms. Pillsbury stayed completely silent, watching the scene unfold in front of her.

"What do you mean?" Quinn asked in a frail tone.

"I cheated on Puck with Brittany," Santana revealed, "And, well… practically made out with everyone else on the football team."

"But you and Puck weren't serious," Quinn mumbled, "and he was with other girls, too. He's a horny jerk."

"Yeah," Santana agreed, "that's true, but what I did to Britt was much worse." She inhaled sharply before continuing, "I convinced her that sleeping with me-"

"Ahh- ooh- no!" Emma stuttered, "No naughty talk!"

"-Sorry!" Santana winced, "I convinced Britt that _kissing_ me while she was with Artie wasn't cheating, because I was a girl. Since the 'plumbing' was different, it was okay to hook up with me behind her exclusive boyfriend's back." She paused to let that admission sink into Quinn. The blonde girl's eyes swelled with shock, making the pangs of guilt throb more intensely in Santana's gut. "Basically, I took advantage of Brittany's trust in me for my own selfish pleasure, and then I had the _nerve_ to whine when Britt didn't leave Artie for me."

Quinn squeezed the tan hand she was holding. "Wow," she breathed, "dick move." The phrase she heard her guy friends use seemed appropriate.

"Yeah," Santana chuckled, "_major_ dick move."

Quinn offered her a fleeting, small smile, before her face switched into a thoughtful expression. "Ms. Pillsbury?" she croaked, voice thick with emotion, "Given the circumstances, are we allowed to… 'call it even,' so to speak?"

Emma studied the hopeful pair carefully. "I think that would be totally appropriate, girls." She smiled as both girls released the breath they had been holding. "I think you two should hug."

Santana sprung out of her chair, yanking a willing Quinn into her arms. The paler girl began to sob, whispering heartfelt apologies into black hair. Santana tightened her hold around her girlfriend as her own tears began to fall. Emma stood up quietly, wrapping an arm around each girls' shoulder as they leaned into their counselor. Teenage germs be damned, she adored these girls.

Feeling the damp sensation of tears on her cardigan, however, made the woman rethink her decision. Tears meant _snot_. Snot meant germs. Germs meant death by vicious, flesh-eating Ebola. Suddenly feeling prickly and anxious, Ms. Pillsbury released the couple and shuffled awkwardly to the door. "I'm going to go to the bathroom…" Both girls continued to cry. "Okay, ladies? Please turn off the lights when you leave. The door will lock behind you." After receiving an affirmative, hiccup-like sound from Quinn, she bolted to the teacher's lounge, which the contained the only bathroom sanitary enough for the obsessive woman's standards.

Quinn nudged her nose along Santana's face until their lips crashed together in a frenzied kiss. Strong, tan limbs weaved around Quinn's torso, supporting her weakened form. "I'm so sorry, baby," Quinn whispered between wet kisses.

Santana, uninterested in speaking, slid her tongue across her girl's bottom lip. She smiled inwardly as Quinn allowed her entrance; the familiarity of the gesture at once felt warm and calming, like home.

All that mattered was Quinn was kissing her back.

* * *

><p>"Now what?" Quinn huffed petulantly.<p>

Santana chuckled, sliding her palm possessively up the back of Quinn's top as they walked to her jeep. Upon reaching the passenger side door, Santana tilted her head to whisper, "I guess it's time for angry make-up sex," promptly striking Quinn mute. Smirking, she kissed Quinn's cheek before walking around to the driver side door. Quinn closed her eyes, shaking herself out of her daze. She knew one thing for certain: Santana had every intention on following through with that statement.

"Quinn!" Her girlfriend hissed, rolling down the window, "I'm not sitting on your face in the parking lot, so get in the car."

She rolled her eyes. _How crude _Quinn thought silently as she climbed in the car. _And how very Santana_. "I'm coming," she answered, immediately regretting her choice of words as Santana's laugh was drowned out by the radio.

* * *

><p>"<em>Baby, will you <em>please_ calm down?" Santana pleaded through the locked door of her girlfriend's bathroom. A sound akin to a wailing Banshee was the only response she was given. "Quinn! Sweetheart, are you okay?" she asked hysterically._

"_Go the _fuck_ away!" Quinn shrieked, finally forming words._

"_I'm not going anywhere, and you know that!" Santana yelled back, refraining from shooting back her own string of expletives. She was using unusually sound judgment today._

_And, of all days, boy, did she need it._

"_If you don't leave, I swear I will call the police!"_

_Santana winced. She surely didn't want to have to explain this scene to her boss._

"_Just let me explain-"_

"_How?" Quinn abruptly yanked open the door, "just – how can you possibly explain _this_?" She hurled Santana's cell phone at her. A bikini-clad (damn near naked) Brittany was illuminated on the screen with the caption, "do you approve? ;-)"_

_Santana evaded the device and lunged to grab Quinn all in the same motion. She was petrified of the blonde retreating back into the locked bathroom. The pale girl flailed against her. "Let me go!"_

"_No! You need to calm down!" Santana tightened her grip around her girlfriend's middle. _

"_Why should I calm down, when your ex is sending you practically nude photos? How long has this been going on? Have you been sexting behind my back?" Moments like these revealed just how insecure the former head cheerleader truly was._

_Santana scoffed. "Uh, you're not still banging Puckerman, chica. I don't go behind your back, and you know it! I had no idea Britt was gonna send me that picture!"_

"_And how am I supposed to believe that?" Quinn snapped, still struggling._

"_Does anyone expect bikini shots in the middle of winter?" Santana offered up hesitantly._

_Quinn sagged limply in Santana's embrace. "Let me go, please." Tan arms stayed tightly around her torso. "_Now_, San." She added a bit more forcefully. Sighing, the Latina warily released her. Quinn crossed the hall and ended up face-down on her bed, crying into it softly._

_The mattress dipped under Santana as she gingerly sat next to the woman she loved. "I'm so sorry, Q." She wasn't sure why she felt the need to apologize, considering Brittany was the one who sent her the photo, but it sounded like the right thing to say. She began rubbing the paler girl's back gently._

_Quinn rolled to her side before whispering, "you're going to leave me, aren't you?"_

"_**Never**__," was Santana's immediate, emphatic response. "Where the hell did that come from?"_

_Quinn sniffled. "She has abs, I have stretch marks. She's tall and graceful, and I'm clumsy and unpredictably emotional. We've dated for mere months, and you were in love with her since you were kids-"_

"_Stop right there-" Santana insisted._

"_-When's it going to happen, Santana? How many more random photos is it going to take before you realize what you're missing and go back to Brittany?"_

"_Enough, Quinn!" Santana chided, sliding both her hands to either side of the blonde's face. "I'm not going to leave you. Not for her. Not for anyone."_

"_I don't deserve you," Quinn decided._

"_Where do you get these ridiculous ideas?" Santana wondered out loud. "Have you been drinking Sue's protein shakes again? I'm pretty sure she laces those things with meth."_

_Quinn continued rambling. "I'm too much of a burden." The tendency to self-deprecate, of which her parents infected her, was in full-swing. "I cry at the drop of a hat. I have near death experiences every time I have a panic attack. Brittany's beautiful, uncomplicated, how am I supposed to compete-"_

"_Now, you listen to me," Santana demanded, her tone certain, yet soft, "You have nothing to worry about. Britt isn't going to win me over. No one is. No one, and nothing, will ever compare to how I feel about you." She gathered the weeping girl in her arms as she continued, "When I say 'I love you,' I mean only you. Explicitly, irreparably, exclusively. Forever. Never question that, mi amor."_

_Quinn only cried harder, but she nodded into Santana's throat. The Latina silently prayed this would be the only time she ever had to convince Quinn of her devotion._

_It wouldn't be._

* * *

><p><strong>AN2: **Wow. This is a _complete departure_ from my original vision for this update. This chapter was supposed to be about Santana coming clean about how she handled her secret relationship with Brittany, but it morphed into something more. I never intended on burrowing so deeply into Quinn's psychological issues created by her parents. However, at the same time, this is the exact reason I started this story, to portray the journey Quinn goes through while loving Santana all the way. I know this chapter may have been heavy on the angst, but I hope you enjoyed reading it. **And I promise**, the angry make-up sex is coming up.


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